


Burn that Page

by violetpierrot



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Other, Time Travel, detailed content warning in chapter 9's summary do read before reading the chapter to decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25308265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetpierrot/pseuds/violetpierrot
Summary: Caleb finds a way to go back in time and attempts to change his past.Spoilers for the entirety of campaign 1 & 2, up till episode 101.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre & Caleb Widogast, Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 31
Kudos: 103





	1. I'm nightmares underneath, it's useless

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer:
> 
> This story follows canon up till episode 101. Spoilers for the entirety of both campaign 1 and 2 are included.
> 
> Though I have listed the main character relationship the story follows as Jester/Caleb, their relationship is complicated, and the M9 have many complex relationships so all of them may be mentioned in some way or another. While I think of their story and connection as romantic, this specific story is not a romance. It is plausible to read their in-story relationship as somewhat platonic. This comes from the current mystery box of their canon relationship where Jester's specific feelings are in limbo. Your mileage may vary. 
> 
> This timeline of events assumes that after episode 100 of campaign 2:  
> The Morkoth was defeated and the island’s inhabitants memories restored. Some decided to remain, having little wish to return to their former lives, but others planned to leave. After an somewhat contrived honest conversation with his followers, the Traveller decides not to abandon any of his worshippers, even if it means he can’t always be there for Jester. Jester agrees too, planning to rely more on the help of her friends, and finding the emotional strength to share her god with the others who love him.

Construction of a new temple to the Traveler had begun on Rumblecusp, nights of feasting and celebration passed. Repairs were made to the Balleater, and the Mighty Nein prepared to head back to Nicodranas on the morrow. And after that? Where would they go after? The question hung unanswered, but Jester thought about it. A vague shadow of unease prickled at her beneath the thrill of their success.

“Goodnight Beau. Goodnight Yasha. Goodnight Veth.” In a jumbled chorus, her family wished her goodnight in return.

“Goodnight Traveler.”

“Goodnight, my Jester.” A soft voice whispered past her shoulder.

As she lay down, the unease she’d been feeling all day seemed to sharpen, taking shape. The whole day had seemed like a callback to something. A strange sense of déjà vu, like she’d done everything, said everything, and heard everything before.

“It’s okay. Everything will be okay. I’m just being silly.” she told herself resolutely, and slept.

Dawn fell softly through cracks in the hollowed-out tree trunk, with the scent of sulfur and ozone permeating their sleeping room. As she awoke, an inexplicable feeling of loss and fear beat through her veins, collecting in a knot that caught in her chest and throat. She sat upright quickly, looking about the room. Beau, Veth, and Yasha were still sleeping soundly, snoring heavily. An orange cat lay sleeping on Beau’s back. Her anxiety receded slightly.

She dressed as quietly as she could and left the room, climbing to the ground with Sprinkle chittering softly in her ear. As she left, the scent of sulfur and ozone intensified, mixing with the smells of cooked mushrooms and vegetables. She looked about rather aimlessly, for anything to soothe the knot of sourceless dread in her heart, but found nothing. It seemed as far as she could tell, a beautiful and peaceful morning on the island of Rumblecusp. She smiled, a convincing smile that reached her eyes, and skipped towards the scents of cooking.

At long wooden trestle tables set out in the clearing, Caduceus was ladling out what looked like stir-fried mushrooms tossed with leafy vegetables and chopped nuts. He gave her an easy, relaxed smile as she approached.

“Morning.”

“Good morning!”

Nice, easy, normal. Everything was as it should be. She sat, and Caduceus slid a plate of food before her at the table.

“There’s juice if you want any.”

“Okay, thank you!”

She picked up the wooden spoon and paused.  
  
“Hey Caduceus?”

“Yeah?”  
  
“Do you… smell something weird? I think there’s a funny smell right now. Not food, you know, but kind of like those component things that … hm. Someone. Veth? That Veth uses when she does her magic stuff.”

The firbolg closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

“Now that you say it, yeah. I do smell something. Maybe Veth was doing some testing.”  
  
“Maybe. Yeah. Yeah, thanks. Thanks for the food, Caduceus.”  
  
“No problem.” Caduceus smiled and continued to serve newcomers to the communal tables.

As the dawn brightened into sunrise proper, the rest of the Nein drifted over to join her. Beau with Professor Frumpkin draped around her neck, and Fjord wearing amber beads strung on a leather cord, and some kind of crystal on a chain. Both with special smiles at the ready for her. Veth and Yasha. Caduceus joined them eventually as well. She greeted everyone cheerfully and they ate breakfast leisurely, engaging in an energetic discussion over how to better haze Marius, Jester’s idea for an upgraded Captain Tusktooth tattoo, and impossible plans for parent-trapping her father and mother so they could see each other and fall in love again. She smiled, she joked, and laughed till her cheeks hurt. Then all the food was eaten and the plates cleared away.

“Wow, looks like everyone’s in a good mood today. Ready to head to the Balleater?”  
  
A chorus of agreement answered Fjord, but his eyes flicked to and lingered on hers. She smiled and nodded, and he smiled back in gentle acknowledgement. And what a handsome smile that was. Her heart skipped a tiny beat.

“Alright, best we be off, and be on the lookout for any dragon turtles on the way back. We don’t want to be attacked again.”  
  
“I’ll catch up. I want to check that I’ve packed everything. Just in case.”

“No hurry. We’ll wait for you.” He patted her on the shoulder before walking away.

She looked around and saw Veth kicking her heels at the table, lingering when everyone else had left to do their personal activities.

“Hey Veth.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Dark brown eyes raised to meet hers. It had not been too long ago since… Essek? Essek had turned Veth back to her original form, and sometimes she still expected to see the yellow-eyed goblin when she turned to her fellow detective friend.

“Were you doing some experiment or something with like magic stuff just now?”  
  
The halfling blinked confusedly.

“No. I woke up and came down to eat right away.”  
  
“Oh okay.”  
  
“Is something wrong?”  
  
“No, I just thought there was a weird smell is all, and Caduceus said it could have been someone doing an experiment or something, I don’t know.”

“You know, now that you mention it, I do smell something strange.” Veth tapped her knuckles on her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s follow the smell!”  
  
“Okay!”  
  
Jester agreed easily, and the duo walked around the village, sniffing hard. This activity attracted the attention of Caduceus and Yasha who thought it seemed fun and joined in. Eventually the four of them came to one of the smaller huts built on the ground.

“I think… the smell is coming from here.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
Veth put her ear to the door.  
  
“I don’t hear anything.”  
  
“Should we go in?”

Veth hummed indecisively.

“Do you think it’s safe?”  
  
Jester felt she did not know how to respond. The knot of dread she’d pushed down into her chest seemed to pulse and swell. She bit her lip. Veth examined the door closely for traps.

“I think it’s alright. Let’s go in.”

“Wait!” But as she stretched out her hand, Veth had already pushed the door open.

The stink of ozone and sulfur cut to their noses in an instant. Jester wrinkled her nose, but peered into the room curiously. Dimly, she registered the sound of several sharp intakes of breath beside and above her. The hut had only a single room, sparsely furnished with a table, a chair, and a bookshelf. Leaves of parchment with arcane-looking scribbles littered the floor, and her eye was drawn to a familiar object in the centre of the room.

On the floor, in the middle of a circle of blackened, scorched earth, was a dodecahedron, without handles, about the same size as the beacon they’d returned to the Bright Queen. A blurry memory leapt to mind, of someone approaching her in a grand court room, hands lifted. ‘Jester, I am coming to you, okay?’ but the figure was indistinct, the voice more impression than sound. She couldn't remember who it was, their face, colour, or clothing.  
  
Slumped beside the dodecahedron face-down on the ground, was the unmoving body of a man with shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair.

“What happened here?” Yasha walked fearlessly into the room and reached towards the body.  
  
Before her fingers could touch it, it seemed to suddenly lose its corporeal state and become difficult to fix on. As they watched, the body seemed to become less distinct. Jester blinked rapidly, trying to focus her eyes, and it was gone.

“Who was that?” Yasha snatched her hand back.

“I don’t know, but he felt… very familiar. Kind of like the Traveller a little bit.”  
  
Jester shook her head. Perhaps this was some kind of prank.

“Is that a dodecahedron?” Veth piped up.

“It looks like it.” Caduceus responded.  
  
“What’s it doing here?” Veth asked reasonably.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Something is wrong.”

Jester pressed her palms to her cheeks. Her heart raced. Dread and foreboding bubbled up in her throat and threatened to spill over. Then, she carefully put her hands down at her sides, and set her shoulders in as best a relaxed posture as she could.

“Veth, you know a bit about this kind of magic, can you tell anything about what happened here?” Jester asked.

“Hm.” Veth began to examine the room, walking around the circle of burnt earth, sniffing a little. Jester sat on the ground, a thousand truncated thoughts dancing in her head.

“Maybe I should get the others.” said Caduceus.

“I’ll go get them.” Yasha volunteered.

“Then I’m just going to stand outside and stop anyone else from trying to come in.” Caduceus rose and left the room, Yasha following after.

A glimmer of an idea came to Jester’s mind, and she took out her sketchbook and copied as much as she could of the arcane pattern on the ground. Veth stared at the pieces of parchment strewn on the floor and began to collect them carefully.

“Do you know what kind of magic this was?”  
  
The halfling frowned and bit her lip.

“I’m not sure. The writing feels almost familiar. It looks like... something. Like I saw it long ago. I don’t know. Maybe we should ask Essek.”

Footsteps sounded outside the hut. In a strange impulse, Jester scrambled forward, grabbed the dodecahedron and stuffed it into her haversack just before the rest of the Nein reached the room.

“Hey guys, what’s going on? Yasha said you found something.”  
  
“Hey Beau.” Jester reached for her hand and held it tightly. “Did you - did we know someone with like, orange hair? A kind of tall guy with like hair like Professor Frumpkin’s fur?”

Beau squeezed her hand back reassuringly and frowned in thought.

“Maybe? We’ve met a lot of people.”  
  
Fjord pushed past them into the room, glanced around and took in the scene, and proceeded to confer quietly with Veth about what they'd seen earlier. Yasha’s eyes fixed on her curiously. Another thought came to mind.

“Beau? Where did you get Professor Frumpkin?”  
  
The monk girl smiled, half with affection and half in confusion.

“Don’t you remember? I bought him when you got Nugget and Sprinkle.”

“Oh. Of course! I just forgot, it’s been a while.”  
  
“No problem. Are you feeling okay? Do you want to step out for a bit?”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to her at these words. Jester summoned her best cheerful spirit to inhabit her body.

“Yeah, yeah I’m totally okay. I mean, I was surprised, ‘cause we came into the room, and there was like this body on the ground, and then he disappeared you know, so that was just a little weird. But I’m completely fine. Like weird things happen around us, all the time.”

“Yeah. They do.” The worry in Beau’s eyes lifted, and they discussed what they had found in the room.  
  
Veth described her findings, but with a strange look at her, glossed over without mentioning the dodecahedron. Jester averted her eyes and said nothing. Every member scoured the room for clues in the next half hour, finding nothing else of interest. Then, as Jester looked back on the ground, the pattern of arcane symbols burnt into the earth lightened, and vanished. Hurriedly, she looked in her sketchbook, but her copied sigils remained. Seeing this, Veth checked her collected papers, and tilted her head in mild confusion.

“These papers look emptier than they were just now” she commented uncertainly.

“Something weird is going on. Another Morkoth?” Beau suggested.

Fjord folded his arms and said nothing.

“I’m going to message Essek.” Jester announced.

“Hey Essek! We found weird arcane things on Rumblecusp. We need your help. Can you come please? Also there was a disappearing circle and a - “

Fjord held up his hands to show she’d reached her word limit, and she stopped. A minute later, the response came.

“Jester. I’m afraid I cannot leave Xhorhas at this moment, though what you found sounds interesting. My apologies.”

“He can’t come here right now.” Jester told the Nein disconsolately.

“It certainly is a mystery. Do you want to stay here longer to figure it out? The Balleater can wait for us.” Fjord suggested.

“… no.” Jester shook her head slowly. “There’s nothing left here now. It’s not a big deal, we don’t need to think about it anymore. Let’s just go.”  
  
“Alright. If you’re worried or curious, we can also check in with Yussa once we reach Nicodranas and see if he has any thoughts.” Fjord said encouragingly. “Shall we head off then?”  
  
“I’m not worried.” she insisted. “I mean yeah, we should totally ask Yussa once we get back.”

“Nothing we can do now.” Veth agreed, though she looked troubled.

The sun shone warmly as the group headed towards the Balleater. The crew met them cheerfully, eager to leave the island of strange happenings. As they walked onto the deck of the Balleater, she looked back at the island, at the Mighty Nein, her friends. Fjord, Beau, Nott, Yasha, Caduceus.  
  
“Thanks for coming with me guys. It really means a lot. I’m glad all of you were here.” Jester said with feeling.

Everything was going as well as could be. And her fears were unfounded, unimportant and not worth mentioning. She would see her mother soon, and visit her father. Go on a prank spree in Zadash. A faint shadow of memory bubbled up from the depths of her mind. A chair suspended in midair, immovable. She tried to think of where she’d seen it, and how, but could not recall.

They set sail, leaving the island of Rumblecusp behind them.


	2. we, beloved of the springtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let nothing be my mark on time  
> let grief burn away all I have done  
> let my loves live and be blessed  
> let no one else pay for my existence

The chaos of flame, and infinite potentiality of dunamis blazed a trail behind him, spirit travelling a silver line. Exhilaration suffused his non-being before a terrible hit of overwhelming nausea. A sourceless pain. Indefinable agony. But he blinked.

The bright sun beat down on youthful arms. He looked down at his arms with wonder and a strange sense of disconnect. No scars. He ran his right hand across his left arm. Smooth skin. His vision blurred, and he blinked back tears to look around him. He stood behind a large sun tree next to a small house built of grey stone. A light mezzo-soprano voice rang with the sound of a clumsy piano accompaniment.

He had done it. He was Bren Aldric Ermendrud. The year was 817 Post-Divergence, and the day 15 Sydenstar, the first day of Highsummer celebrations in Blumenthal. His mother would just now be aiding preparations for the feast at the Oderman Hall, his father working in the fields. Hands shaking, legs trembling. Breath came in short and quick breaths. He walked out from behind the tree. Everyone and everything he'd known in the past 18 years seemed suddenly distant and dreamlike. None of it had ever happened, and if he was careful, none of it would ever happen now.

He’d been hiding that day. This day. The memory was as sharp and vivid as any of his worst nightmares. Though the sunbeams were warm, the day was cold, with a stiff breeze. He crept forward and peered in through the window of the house. Marianne Schmidt taught music to children that were born to slightly better off parents. Standing beside the piano, a short girl. Brown hair that fell to her waist in a long braid, plain but neat cotton frock, stockings and leather shoes. Face cut with all the beauty and severity of a goddess carved in marble, but with an unmistakable warmth in eyes that now danced with mischief as she sang. A well-built youth hammered away at the blackwood piano. Dark hair fell across blue eyes narrowed in concentration. Marianne stood with a watchful eye on both, interjecting intermittently with spoken directions or emphatic gestures. The song entered its final verse, and Astrid’s eyes flicked suddenly to the window, catching his, and winked. He smiled back reflexively, numbly, in spite of himself. A strange feeling of non-reality blending with joy, nostalgia, and affection. Something about the scene felt wrong, yet seemed so right. Eodwulf’s fingers sped up now, racing towards the grand finish.

“And ta!” Marianne gestured fiercely to match her spoken cue, and Eodwulf’s thumb hit the final note with all the strength he possessed in his well-muscled hand.

A terrible metallic thwacking sound followed by a quieter creaking pierced the room. Then absolute silence. Astrid covered her mouth with her knuckles, face carefully blank and innocent. Eodwulf jerked back in his seat, eyes darting around the room. Three pairs of eyes turned to the window, two furious, one brimming with suppressed humour. Then Astrid’s warm golden laughter rang through the room. Bren grinned, turned and ran towards his home as voices raised in anger behind him. It felt like a ghost was in his body, moving his limbs, laughing, and he watched from inside it. He did not make it to his house before Eodwulf caught up and tackled him to the ground, shaking with giddiness and laughter.

“Funny.” Eodwulf held up the fork Bren and Astrid had conspired to balance carefully between the piano strings, that the hammer for the last note of the piece would hit instead of the intended strings.

“Marianne won’t stop screaming till tomorrow.” His knees pinned Bren’s legs to the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye, Astrid hurried up the path towards them just as Eodwulf scooped up a handful of mud from the ground and smeared it across his face. It had rained earlier that morning.

“And now we’re even.” He smiled, a smile familiar despite the passing of years.

Bren clamped his arms around Eodwulf, pulling his childhood friend down towards him in a hug. Surprised, the stockier youth landed heavily on him.

“What’s this?” Though seemingly nonplussed, he hugged him back. “Feeling sorry? It was a good prank.”  
  
Bren pressed his muddied face into Eodwulf’s shoulder without saying a word. Astrid caught up just then, grinning, her severe features transformed by mirth and satisfaction.

“Both of you will have to clean up before the feast or old Oderman will throw a fit.”  
  
She stood a couple of feet away on a drier patch of ground, worn shoes and stockings immaculately clean. Bren’s eyes caught Eodwulf’s and a look passed between them. A smile pulled at Eodwulf’s lips as he rolled over and reached for Astrid’s stockinged ankle with a muddy hand. She saw the exchange and tried to step away a moment too late.

“Oh no you don’t - ah! Wulf!” Her humour melted into disgust. “These were my best stockings!”  
  
“Shouldn’t have worn them so early in the day. Never know what accidents might happen.” He grinned unrepentantly.

She shook off his hand and brought her shoe down on the back of his hand. Eodwulf yelped in pain.

“I am going home to change. See you both later tonight.” Astrid drew herself to her full five feet and three inches of height, quirked a small smile at Bren, and stalked off gracefully. Eodwulf leapt to his feet and extended a hand towards Bren.

“Time to get up, Bren. Your mother has probably finished with the feast preparations.”  
  
“…Mother. Yes. Of course.” Bren pulled himself up and Eodwulf patted his back affectionately, carefully smearing more mud on his shirt.  
  
“See you later, Bren.”  
  
Mother.  
  
Home.  
  
His feet traced a path he had not walked in years, burnt into subconscious memory. The roads here were unpaved. In the distance, fields of golden wheat waved, soon to be harvested. Some few hundred yards off from the edge of the fields was a dark forest. He reached the outskirts of the village, where houses were smaller and sparser now. Almost there.

His childhood home was a house made of wood, no fence. A small plot of straggly green beans he’d planted weeks earlier by the eastern wall. The wooden door was open, and he hesitated ten steps before the door. A lone raven cawed from a nearby pine tree.

“It’s okay.” he spoke aloud to himself. “You’ll make things right now.”  
  
He took a step forward.  
  
“Everyone will be safe. You’ll make sure of that.”  
  
Another step. Then two more.  
  
A snatch of song drifted to his ears, painfully familiar. The raven cawed again, the sound seeming somehow a bad omen. He dared not walk closer.

“You are repose, you are peace.”  
  
An old song, one he’d heard so many times before, filling the home with the joy of sound.  
  
Three more steps forward, like a puppet on strings.

“Your love for me gives me worth.”  
  
He closed the distance to the door, drawn on a thread of song.

“Your gaze transforms me in my own sight.”

The sunlight falling into the kitchen illuminated the form of his mother. Reddish brown hair, weather beaten skin, a thin figure and sturdy clothes. And the voice of an angel.

“With love you raise me above myself.” Una Ermendrud sang blithely, sang beautifully, sang warmly.

“Mother?” Distantly he noted the quaver in his voice, the tremor in his limbs.

She turned towards him, bright blue eyes narrowing as they took in the muddied state of his clothing.

“Bren. Welcome home - no, don’t hug me!” She held him at arm’s length with her palm. “Go and change at once! I don’t want mud over this dress.”

“I’m… I’m home.” He latched on instead to her hand, clasping it in both of his hands, feeling the rough and calloused skin, slim gold ring, broken fingernails. It was real. This was real. She was real. Living, alive, present, here.

Annoyance shifted to concern as she looked sharply at his face.  
  
“Are you unwell? You don’t look too well. Do you want to stay home tonight? I’ll prepare something light for your supper.”  
  
“Ah. N-no. I’m, I’m right as rain. Just a little tired. I’ll change and get ready for the feast.”

“You do that.” She tapped his cheek affectionately and wiped some mud off. “And wash that face while you’re at it. Come down and help me with the candles when you’re done.”  
  
“Okay.” he managed weakly.  
  
Una turned her back to her work and he stumbled towards the stairs. His room was the attic, that doubled as long-term storage for the house. His body seemed to move of its own accord, climbing towards his room, the door was not shut, and he walked into a room with a single bed, no table or chair, and stacks of old items piled alongside two of room’s walls. On the floor was a book laid open, upon the book a sleeping cat. Golden fur with darker striping on the legs, back, head, and tail.

“Frumpkin.” He dropped to his knees beside him and scratched gently the head of his childhood cat.

“I missed you buddy.”

Frumpkin lifted an eyelid lazily and promptly closed it, ignoring him. So far the day was progressing almost just as he had remembered it. He ran his hands over his head, pressing his cheeks down. He had to do this right this time around. No more mistakes. He had to pull himself together, and be careful. 

“What do you have there, boy?” He prodded and pushed and pulled till Frumpkin got up in disgust and left to lie in a sunray falling through the window, revealing the book beneath. Old yellowed pages covered in arcane sigils, the writing not his own. Just as he'd remembered it.

On this day, he had discovered his spellbook, knocked over by Frumpkin from one of the storage piles. His great grandmother, he’d been told, had a gift for the arcane. He flipped through the book now. Three simple spells, and two of slightly higher complexity. In another life, he'd shared this finding with his closest friends. In another life, they'd taught themselves spells and displayed extraordinary aptitude for the arcane. Another life that would now never come to pass. Carefully, he slid the book beneath his mattress, and went to get himself ready for the festival.  
  
Highsummer celebrations in Blumenthal began with an offering to Pelor, and they made the long walk to the village centre where his temple stood. His mother had freshened up as well, donning a bright yellow fringed shawl and a wide yellow blossom in her neatly bunned hair. He walked close at her side, carrying a small basket containing three small beeswax candles. The candles were painted with cheerful motifs of wheat and red roses, and had cost almost more than they could afford. The price of faithful worship. Frequently, he looked over to Una, who concentrated on the path ahead. The road was not kind to bad knees and ankles and backs. It was slow going. She had a hand on his arm and put some weight on it from time to time, though she seemed not to need it mostly. Bren had instead the faint impression that he was the one being supported by her grip. As they approached the village centre, wood buildings lessened in favour of stone, with fences and exotic looking flowers in riotous bloom. At the very heart of the village stood Pelor's temple, the Chantry of the Sun.  
  
The Chantry of the Sun comprised a rectangular structure, with gleaming white stone tiles and golden cornices. In the middle of the building was an open courtyard that centered around a large sun tree that towered above the chantry. At this time of day, it was swarming with villagers and members of the priesthood, come to offer candles and distribute blessings. Four large braziers burnt briskly in the offertory hall, with a priest and temporary volunteers standing by each. Bren and Una stood in line at the nearest brazier, waiting their turn to light their candles with Pelor's flame. Hundreds of candles already lined the many nooks carved into the walls, brightening and warming the room. As he stared at the nearest candle, its flame seemed to dance and jump and grow brighter. With a start, he tore his eyes away and carefully focused on looking at nothing. When they reached the end of the line, Una tugged at his arm and the priest coughed gently. Bren glanced upwards at the priest. A plump man with a greying beard and long hair. He wore white robes and a gentle face with steely grey eyes. Bren shook his head slightly, and held out the basket with a respectful bow. Una bowed with him.   
  
"Will the Father accept our humble gift?"  
  
"His light shines on all of his children. Blessings on your family. Thank you, child."  
  
The priest laid a hand gently on each of their heads in turn as two village women collected the candles. They passed the candles to the priest, who held each reverently to the brazier and lit them before passing them to a volunteer to place in an empty nook. The candles glowed like pieces of clear amber in a fire. From a large container heaped high with rounds of bread, the priest retrieved three small loaves and placed them in Bren's freshly emptied basket. They bowed again, and left the line. Una steered him towards the golden statue of Pelor that stood in the centre of the room, and clasped her hands in silent prayer. Bren's eyes strayed to the nook with their family's three small candles. The flames were so strong it seemed that the candles would burn out in a few minutes. Then he too, put his hands together and tried to pray.  
  
 _If you had any part in giving me this chance to put things right, thank you. Please continue to help me. I am... very grateful._  
  
Prayers complete, they made their way out of the temple, carefully holding the blessed loaves made from the first wheat of the harvest. If he remembered correctly, and he never forgot anything, the trouble would begin any second now. The first sign of the scuffle was raised voices outside the Chantry of the Sun. A woman was screaming, several men shouting. None of the clergy displayed any visible reaction. As they stepped out, he looked to the left, down the path they had taken to the temple, and there was a small cluster of villagers surrounding something or someone. Una pressed forward to see what was going on, and Bren lagged behind her. They squeezed between the villagers as one of the women brought her fist down on what appeared to be a cowering child. Golden yellow hair fell in wisps around its pointed ears. It wore a thin dress of light blue cotton. Thin, bony fingers clutched a small loaf of crusty bread.  
  
"Demon spawn!"   
  
"Bringer of corruption!"  
  
"Stop!" Una pushed forward and shielded the child with her body as best she could. "Why are you treating this child so cruelly on this holy day?"  
  
"That is no child." The woman who raised her fist spat on the ground. Bren recognised her now, Marcella Wolfhart, wife of the village postmaster. "That is the spawn of devils, come to desecrate our place of worship. Look at it! It knows its guilt. Its actions damn it. It stole my bread, bread blessed by the Dawnfather himself. What would the creature want with it other than to enact some foul ritual?"  
  
"Perhaps the child is simply hungry." Una replied levelly. "Come child. No one shall hurt you more, I'll make sure of it."

Una extended a hand towards the elf who took it hesitatingly. Bren turned towards Marcella with his most placating expression.   
  
"Apologies, Marcella. Please allow us to replace the bread you lost."  
  
He held out his basket towards the postmaster's wife, whose face seemed impossibly red. For a moment, Bren thought she might blow up in smoke. Then she snatched the basket from his hands, huffed, and stalked away. The rest of the villagers milled about uncertainly, before eventually dispersing. The golden haired child clung to Una tightly, who tucked their hair back gently behind their ears, revealing bright blue eyes. Their face was dirty, tear-streaked, and painfully thin. A silver chain hung from their neck, with a silver symbol he now recognised. Two crescent moons above a four-sided star.  
  
"It's okay now. Where do you stay? I'll walk you home."  
  
The child lifted a trembling, bony hand, and pointed down the path.  
  
"Bren, let's go."  
  
Una straightened and began to walk, holding the child by the hand. Bren followed his mother warily, keeping an eye on their surroundings for anyone that watched them too closely. They made their way down the path without apparent issue. The child continued to point, and they walked a long distance, till they were almost at their own house. Then, the child jerked their hand out of Una's grasp and darted away off the path, making a straight dash for the woods. Bemused and tired from the walk, Una let them go. Mother and son watched the strange elf run across the fields and disappear into the dark forest. A wave of nausea swept through him, and once again, he felt that a spirit was possessing his limbs. The grass cut at his legs as he found himself dashing after the child towards the woods. He regained control of himself and stopped at the edge of the forest, and glanced back. Una stood alone on the path, a hundred yards away.  
  
"Head home first, mother! I'll just look to see where they went and be back!" he called over to her.  
  
"Be careful!" Una called back.  
  
He waved at her as reassuringly as he knew how, turned, and walked into the woods.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Una is singing the lieder Widmung, by Schumann.  
> 2\. While Bren and Astrid sabotaged the piano as a prank, the practice of adding foreign objects between piano strings is a technique used in music today called 'prepared piano'.  
> 3\. Though the chapter title mentions spring, it is currently Highsummer.
> 
> edit: I realized belatedly that the name 'Chantry of the Dawn' was already used in-game for the Rexxentrum temple. Curses! It will now be changed in this story to the name 'Chantry of the Sun'.


	3. I'm fine, don't ask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop your mask of sadness  
> we're standing in the sun

Jester tired quickly of watching the waves, and there was no carpentry left to be done on the ship. The sun was too strong for her to stay on the deck without getting a sunburn but she flitted from post to post, annoying crew members who all were too soft on her to tell her to go away. Finally she returned to their shared crew quarters where Beau was reading the Salty Sea aloud to Yasha and Veth. Professor Frumpkin sat on her lap, napping. All smiled at her as she entered, but the narration continued. A floating glass ball of light illuminated the room. Restlessly, Jester jumped onto her bunk bed and turned the contents of her haversack inside out.

Sketchbook, tarot cards, Tusk Love, paints and an ugly iron mask tumbled onto the bed. The dodecahedron she quickly stuffed back inside the bag. These items were followed by a fist-sized stone, faintly ringed, and a thick book with no words on the cover that looked rather old. She held up the stone and looked closer. An odd tilted face was painted on it, as if someone had pushed the painter’s hand while it was being drawn. Jester frowned at it for a while. She did not remember possessing the stone, but the face certainly looked like something she drew herself. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine sitting on a cart and reaching out to paint a smiley face on a rock placed within a circle of copper. Still, it was just a smiley face, anyone else could have drawn it. She slipped the stone into her pocket and reached for the book instead. Flipping through the pages revealed rows upon rows of intricately drawn arcane-looking runes and diagrams. With a gasp, she let the book fall from her fingers, and it bounced off her bed onto the floor with two thumps. Professor Frumpkin glared at her blearily before returning to sleep. Beau stopped reading to look over at her in concern.

“What’s up?” Beau asked.

“Nothing.” Jester replied with a quick smile, waving them back to their smutty novel.  
  
She looked at the book again, slowly and more carefully this time. The glyphs and sigils made no sense to her, but something had caught her eye. Drawn on the corner of a page was a single dickbutt, such as one she would draw herself. She stared, unblinking. This was not her book, but it had her drawing in it. She could recognise her dicks when she drew them. She glanced over at Veth, who seemed once again engrossed in Beau’s animated retelling of sailor romance. Time enough to ask her about it later.

Softly, she closed the book and replaced it in her haversack. She repacked everything except the deck of tarot cards, and these she spent some time looking through them. Experimentally, she cut and shuffled the deck and looked at the top card. The Eye came up, one she recognised from the first time Molly told her fortune. This time the card was reversed, with the eye symbol at the bottom of it. Facing upwards was instead a single desiccated hand with an eye buried in its palm. Jester stared at it intently this way and that, but failed to prise any special message out of it. She wished Molly were here to guide her. Haphazardly, she spread them across her bed and mixed them up as randomly as she could before gathering them up again in a single stack. Then she sighed. Interest and energy seemed to bleed out of her in an instant. She flopped on her back and closed her eyes, trying to think. With the sound of sailor smut fiction and occasional squeals from her friends, she drifted off to sleep.

She slept fitfully, sliding in and out of scattered dreams. A ginger-haired man slicing his palm above a stone altar. Drawing a circle in chalk on the ground. Placing a diamond in her hand. A faceless figure waltzing with her in a rundown pub. Sitting next to her in a tavern with the scent of the sea. A bat flitting across a roof. Horses shifting into moorbounders and starting in fear. Amber lollipops drifting in the air. Then she was in an underground chamber and the faceless man turned towards her, hand outstretched, burst of flame leaping from his hand towards her. She raised her arms to protect herself from the searing heat and gasped. With a jerk her eyes flew open, and it was dark.

Night had fallen, and gentle snoring filled the room. She sat up and swung her feet off the bed, trying to take deep and slow breaths. Her heart was pounding against her ribs. She briefly considered puking on the ground and decided against it. Quietly, she stood up. At some point in her sleep, she must have knocked over the stack of tarot cards. Two were lying face-up on the floor, colours bleached grey and white in her darkvision.

On one card, a single gravemarker stood with the early sun rising behind it. She had drawn this card herself in Nicodranas, before they’d sailed for Travelercon, what seemed like a lifetime ago. The second card depicted a small spark of fire on one side, and an all-engulfing blaze on the other. As she studied her cards, she felt her pulse slow, and her breathing come easier. Jumbled thoughts seemed to straighten themselves out in her head and she felt a novel sense of clarity and purpose. As silently as she could, she carried her haversack and padded out of the sleeping quarters, up to the deck.

Darkness and quiet greeted her. A couple of crew members were on watch, but she allowed them to blend into the background of her thoughts. Catha was in her waning phase, almost invisible in the sky, and she could not spot Ruidus at all. Thousands of stars splashed across the sky like so many droplets from a flick of her paintbrush. There had been a piece of pink chalk nestled with her painting supplies and she took that out now. In the darkness, with care, she drew her best improvisation of an arcane magic circle, inventing sigils that she liked the look of, chalk moving in small concentric circles to form a larger circle. It felt both cathartic and nostalgic, and she felt herself smiling. When it was done, it looked like dozens of snow angels linking arms in a round on the wooden boards of the deck. She poured a vial of holy water over her open palm above the circle, touched her holy symbol, and prayed for the Traveler to answer her questions.

A warm breeze touched her cheek, and she opened her eyes. Before her was her closest, oldest friend and deity, the Traveler. Though he smiled, he seemed to Jester to look a little tired.

“You called?”  
  
“I wanted to ask you something.” said Jester.  
  
“Then ask.” the Traveler spread his hands, palms wide.  
  
She took a breath. “Have I… forgotten something important?”

The Traveler’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. He tapped his knuckles on his chin, and a sly look came across his face as he answered.

“It’s quite possible.”

Jester wrinkled her nose in annoyance and folded her arms. The Traveler grinned back at her.

“Okay, okay. My next question is, did I know the orange-haired man in the room with the ritual circle?”

The Traveler tilted his head and closed his eyes as if to think for a moment.

“Yes.”

Her heart began to beat faster. She steeled herself and took her time before she settled on her third question.

“Would it be better if I forget and not remember what I’ve forgotten?” Jester bit her lip and squeezed her hands together.

The Traveler made a humming sound. Then, he grinned slyly again.

“Maybe.” the Traveler chuckled, bowed like a magician at the end of a show, and vanished. 

“That's not a real answer!” Jester yelled at the air.  
  
The soft sound of laughter seemed to drift past her on a breeze. She flopped back and lay arms outstretched on the deck. The Traveler had said by not saying, that she had a choice. She spent a while looking at the stars, and at some point, fell asleep.

Jester gathered the Nein the next morning and told them her new decision.

“You want to head to Xhorhas, now?” Beau asked confusedly.

“Don’t you want to visit your mother, or father before that?” Fjord ventured.

“I do, and I will, but just a little bit later. Now I really want to go to Xhorhas. You don’t all have to come with me, I can go there myself. There’s a spell I can use to teleport there, and I can take everyone with me, but I don’t have to.” Jester explained.

“We’ll come with you if that is what you want, Jester, we just don’t know why.” Beau hurried to say.

“I just want to ask Essek about what we found on the island.” 

“Oh, so you’re still worried about that. Okay, I get it. Sure.” Beau agreed.

“I guess we’re all going back to Xhorhas? All agreed?” Fjord asked. Everyone nodded.  
  
“The Balleater can make its own way back.” Fjord sighed in resignation.

“Wait, let me pack my stuff.” Veth said, vanishing towards the crew’s quarters.

“Thanks. I know it sounds a little bit crazy, but I feel like it’s something I have to do right away or I'll forget.” Jester twisted her fingers anxiously.  
  
“If it’s something you want to do, then don’t worry about it. We’ll back you up all the way.” Fjord patted her back reassuringly. 

Somehow, she didn’t feel reassured, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She smiled back at her friends anyway.  An hour later, the Nein were packed and gathered around her on the deck of the Balleater.

“Is everyone ready to go? Gather close to me. Alright, to the Xhorhaus!”   
  
Jester grabbed as much of her family as she could in a huge extended hug, and thought of her shrine to the Traveler at the Xhorhaus.  
  
 _"Take us home, Traveler."  
  
_ A voice whispered past her ear.

“Alright, let’s go home.”

A stiff breeze swept around the Nein with the scent of cut grass and spun sugar. She blinked, and they were at the rooftop garden of their home in Xhorhas, standing before the shrine of their collective gods. The 60 foot tree towered above them, fairy lights winking. Jester breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the Traveler silently.  


“That’s a really cool spell, Jester! Why didn’t we ever use it before?” Beau said, looking impressed.

“Isn’t it? It’s the coolest.” Jester beamed with pride. 

“Do you want to call Essek right away? Or give some time for him to wake up or something? What time is it anyway?” Fjord asked.  
  
They looked up reflexively at the perpetual night sky. The neighbourhood was very quiet and still. No one had any idea what time it was, but it was probably a time when most people were sleeping.

“We don’t have a clock in the house. We should really get a clock. How did we ever keep track of the time?” Veth muttered. 

“We can go out and buy a clock later when the shops open.” Caduceus said reasonably.

“I’ll wait and call him later. I don’t think he likes it when I talk to him when he’s sleeping.” Jester decided.

The Nein split off to their respective hurray-we’re-home activities, but Veth followed her down to the room she shared with Beau, and lingered near Jester, looking jittery. 

“Actually, Veth, there was something I kind of wanted to ask you about.” Jester spoke up.

“Yes?” Veth stopped her nervous twitching and looked at her.

Jester reached into her haversack and took out the book she’d discovered earlier, with no title on the cover. She handed it to Veth.

“Does this look familiar to you?”  
  
Veth opened the book to a random page. Her eyes widened, then she flipped through the rest of the pages quickly, stopping at the page with the drawing of a dick in the margin. 

“Wow.” 

“Do you know what it is?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
“Is it yours?”  
  
“No. I mean, these are spells. I recognise a few of them, but most of them are too advanced for my understanding. How did you get this? Did you draw on this?”

“It was in my bag. I thought you put it there.”

Veth frowned in thought, continuing to study the pages.

“I didn’t put anything in your bag but this… this looks familiar somehow. Can I hold onto it for a bit?”  


Jester hesitated. There was nothing she could do with the spellbook, but she felt an inexplicable reluctance to let go of it, even to give it to her trusted friend. Then, she shook her head.  
  
“Yeah, you hold onto it. Maybe you can even learn some new spells.” Jester agreed.

“Thanks. I don’t know why, but it feels important. I mean, it’s a rare book filled with spells so it’s already important but I mean, even more important.” Veth rambled.  
  
“I think I know what you mean.” Jester said quietly.

Though it had only been less than an hour since she woke up, she felt blanched with fatigue. A grey buzzing emptiness was seeping into her brain. Veth and Jester spent the next few hours sitting on Jester’s bed. Veth, looking through the spellbook as if searching for hidden meaning. Jester, drawing in her sketchbook. She drew a faceless man lying in a circle of burnt earth. She felt as if her hand was moving of its own accord, while her mind was miles away. A while later, she looked down at her book. She had drawn a raven sitting on a gravestone, a wall of flame blazing behind it. Macabre. She closed the sketchbook and got off the bed.

“Time to call Essek.”  


Veth looked up from the spellbook, and rubbed eyes that looked as if she had forgotten to blink for hours. 

“Yeah, let’s see what he can tell us.” 

“Actually," Jester glanced around. "Can I talk to you for a bit?” 

Jester pulled Veth out of the room and shut the door.

“You know the thing that we found on the island that I kept - no don’t say what it is!” she made a shushing motion with her hands. “You know the thing? Don’t mention that to Essek later, alright?”  
  
“Okay. No problem. I won’t say anything. You can trust me.” Veth agreed.

The knowledge of Essek’s betrayal was still fresh in all their minds, though they, especially Veth, were deeply indebted to him. Working off the incomplete notes they’d found in the Archmage’s Bane, Essek had created a spell that would allow the transformation of Veth’s body to her original halfling form. Despite their shattered trust, they still liked him, and wanted to believe in him. Still, Jester wasn’t sure about letting him know about the dodecahedron just yet. 

Essek arrived in short order, the door chimes jingling as he glided somewhat awkwardly into the Xhorhaus. In his hands he held gingerly a box of frosted cupcakes. The rest of the Nein seemed not to know how to react to his presence and mostly settled for watching him warily. They gathered in the foyer, Beau perched on the banisters, Fjord and Yasha leaning against the walls. Caduceus went to prepare fresh tea. Essek cut straight to business, addressing Jester.

“Jester, you said you had need for my assistance?”  
  
“Yeah. We found something on Rumblecusp we want you to look at.” 

Jester flipped through her sketchbook till she found the sketch of the magic circle she’d copied and showed it to him.

“Do you know what this is?”  
  
The drow took the sketchbook from her and inspected it carefully, frowning in thought. 

“I cannot say. Some of these symbols are dunamantic in nature, but this is not a spell I have seen before. It is very... interesting.” 

He did not return the sketchbook immediately and Jester had to wrest it back.

“What about these?”  
  
Veth passed Essek the stack of parchment she’d collected in the room where they’d found the dodecahedron, magic circle, and disappearing body. While the papers had been covered almost full of writing the first time they’d seen them, they now looked half-empty. Essek took more time with these papers, lingering on each page. Caduceus returned with tea. Beau began to toss and catch a globe of light into the air repeatedly. Jester felt her own attention wandering, but snapped it back with an effort. Finally, Essek set the papers down with a sigh. With that action, everyone in the room leaned forward expectantly.

“These notes look like someone’s work into a powerful ritual spell, but it is incomplete. There is something that looks like dunamancy in it, with elements of transmutation and evocation magic. What this person was trying to do, I can only speculate.”

“Well, if you had to guess, what would you say they were trying to do?” Jester asked.

Essek shrugged.  
  
“At a guess? Reverse the flow of time and space. Or travel through it. Others have attempted it before. It is not an uncommon thing to wish for.”

“And if this person succeeded, would they have like, disappeared, and would everything they’d done or people they’d met like, would all of that not have happened?”

Essek fidgeted uncomfortably.  
  
“Theoretically, it is possible. I do not know of any records that describe the effects of such magic in that way.” 

“So we could have known the orange-haired man in that room, only travelling through time made us forget who he was because we never met him?” Yasha suggested.

Essek looked confused. Jester hurried to explain, with Veth filling in the gaps in her retelling. 

“It is possible.” Essek said again, more thoughtfully this time. "If someone truly managed to change the course of the past, then the events of the present would not have occurred. One wonders though, why a body was left behind."

Essek pressed his lips together and fidgeted. “Can I… may I…” he began hesitantly.

“May I keep these notes? I would like to spend more time studying them. I would of course, let you know immediately if I find anything new.” he said with an effort.

“Oh.” said Jester. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think so.” said Veth. “I collected them, so I’m keeping them. If you want to look at them, you can just come visit us again.”  
  
The halfling prised the papers out of the drow’s hands with some difficulty. Essek sighed regretfully. 

“Then, I have some time now, may I look at them now?” He held his hands out again.

“It will have to be later. We’re going out shopping now.” said Veth.

“We are?” Fjord asked.  


“Weren’t we going to buy a clock?” Veth reminded him.

“Oh, I need to buy diamonds too.” Jester remembered. “Essek do you want to come shopping with us?”  
  
“Ah. Thank you for the offer, but I’m afraid I have business I must attend to. Perhaps another time.” Essek let his hands fall to his sides and turned to leave. 

“You just said you had time now!” Beau called at his retreating back. 

He left swiftly, without turning around. The Nein laughed heartily. 

“It’s too bad he wasn’t able to tell us much. I know you were really curious about it, Jessie.” Fjord said consolingly. 

“Aw, it’s not a big deal. Veth and I can figure it out, we're really good detectives.” Jester winked at her halfling friend, who winked back. 

“Let’s go shopping!”

“Yeah!”

The unsolved mystery plucked at Jester's curiosity but a part of her was gnawingly insistent that she should let it go, that it would be better if she let it go. Not all mysteries need solving. She put it out of her mind and resolved to enjoy her shopping day out with her family.

Seven hours, three victorious underground pit fights, two vandalized store signs, the installation of a new clock, a meal of frozen cream and multiple Sending messages to her parents and Kiri later, the Nein wound down for the night, safely back at the Xhorhaus.   
  
The mystery of the ginger-haired man had become tiny and insignificant. Whatever had happened in the past, whatever she had forgotten, she was happy now. There was no need to pursue this matter further.

Safe.

Happy.

Beloved.

Sighing contentedly, Jester finished her drawing of the Nein lifting Fjord above their heads in celebration of his victory, and went to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Rules as written, Word of Recall in 5e specifies six willing creatures, but I'm handwaving Sprinkle in that creature count because maybe the Traveler just really loves Jester that much.
> 
> 2\. Each of Molly's cards were designed to have different words on the reverse. Going by the new cards Jester has introduced and the original known Moon/Mirror card, the reverse meanings are not intended to be direct opposites, but two sides of the same coin. I gambled on the Eye representing the Knowing Mistress and her flipside to be the Whispered One. Both are the seekers of knowledge.


	4. haunted by the light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eat my heart  
> take it all  
> I wasn't special  
> I was damned

The deeper he pushed into the woods, the darker it became. The presence of the sun vanished behind him, a distant memory. Twigs and sharp leaves tore at his Highsummer best clothes. As he brushed past a wychwood shrub, he broke off a small twig and grasped it tightly. Still he stumbled forward. He held his arms in front of his face, lest a low-lying branch poke his eyes.  
  
“Hello?" Bren called into the woods.  
  
The sound of crickets grew louder. He continued to walk. Strangely, he felt no fear. A dream-like calmness had come upon him.  
  
“Hello? Do you live here? I do not wish to hurt you! Are you hungry?”  
  
He called out at intervals, carefully shuffling forward all the while. Bren flexed the fingers of his right hand and made a flicking motion with the twig of wychwood. Four globules of light sparked into existence. The surrounding vegetation seemed almost to swallow the light, but he could see faintly. The forest floor was uneven, but it seemed like there was some sort of a tiny path he could follow. Along this path he walked, feeling with the toes of his boots for the path of least resistance. And then, the forest seemed to thin. Fewer plants seemed to rip at his arms and legs. Cold pricked at his skin. The scent of copper hung in the air. A few steps more, and he found himself in a small clearing. Gentle sunlight filtered through the gaps overhead and illuminated the clearing. As his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw what lay before him, he took a step back reflexively.

Inches in front of him was a small, dark reddish pool. No plants grew out of it, not even at the edges of the pool. A large tombstone-like structure stood at its centre, about 10 feet away from him. On the top of the stone perched an ordinary-seeming if unnaturally pretty man with pale skin and long dark brown hair, wearing nondescript brown armour. There was no sign of the child he'd chased into the woods. The figure held his gloved hands out disarmingly, and smiled wryly.

“You’ve really done it this time now.”

The man’s voice was oddly disjointed, and seemed to ring in his bones, more felt than heard. He spoke Common in a lilting accent unlike any Bren had heard, in this life, or the one he’d left behind. Though he did not seem immediately hostile, Bren tensed, and reached into his pocket for a piece of string.  
  
“Let’s not be too hasty. Why don’t we talk? And I don’t think you should try burning this particular pool, just for the record.” The man said in a friendly, even tone.  
  
Bren nodded, looping the string around his fingers.

“Were you the child outside the temple?” Bren asked.

“I was not.” he replied.  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
“A messenger, of sorts.”  
  
“And what message do you have for me, messenger?”  
  
“I have a message from my matron to you. But I want to tell you something too.”  
  
Bren lifted his eyebrows, waiting.  
  
“It’s not too late to turn back, Bren. You don’t have to do this.” The man leaned forward on the gravestone. “I know how hard it is to live with the consequences of our actions.”

The genuine sincerity in the man's voice gave Bren pause for a moment. Then he shook his head, and met his gaze resolutely.

“If you know, then you know that I must do this.”  
  
Bren heard the tremor in his voice, and hated himself for it. For the lingering doubt he betrayed. His fingers tightened against the string they held between them, looped in a cat’s cradle. The dark-haired man shook his head sadly, an odd bird-like motion. He spoke gently.  
  
“The souls of Una and Leofric Ermendrud were carried safely to the Dawnfather’s realm when they passed. I guided them in their transition. They have been there for 16 years. A soul’s duty does not end upon death. They are not unhappy. Your parents are at peace.”  
  
“They are still alive.” Bren spoke through gritted teeth.

He stared at the strange man, anger sharpening his resolve.   
  
The man sighed, and all feeling, friendly emotion, seemed to drain from his eyes. His features seemed to darken, voice grow deeper. Less conversational, and more dispassionate.  
  
“My matron's message is this: By burning the threads of your own fate, you have caused countless others to fray and shatter. You have left a path many others will be tempted to follow. For their sake, your actions will not be permitted to continue.”  
  
"What will she do to stop me?"

Bren lifted his chin and looked unflinchingly into the eyes of the strange man. The man held his gaze for several moments, then smiled wryly.

“Well, you’ll see. My task here is complete for now. Fare well, Bren Aldric Ermendrud.”

“Wait!” His voice left his throat before he thought about it.

“Yes?” The man cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“What do you mean I have caused ‘countless others to fray and shatter’?” Bren asked. The man looked genuinely surprised.

“What did you think would happen when someone burnt themself out of their own time and potential timelines over a span of 18 years?”  
  
“I know what happens.” Bren heard his voice pitch higher. “I worked it out. Adjacent possibilities will fill in the gaps. Time will repair itself. It happened before, with the mage from Aeor.”

The man’s expression became even more grave than it was before.  
  
“It did.” He agreed.  
  
“So it will repair itself again. No one else will be affected.” Bren asserted.

“With what will it repair itself, Bren?" The kindness in the man's voice cut him like a dagger. "The swath you’ve cut through the weave of fate is larger than anything anyone has done before.”

"That doesn't make any sense." Bren insisted.  
  
“I’m sorry.” said the man sincerely. A touch of sadness reached his eyes.   
  
The man's form seemed to crumble apart, and dispersed into the wind.  
  
Bren stood and stared at the gravestone for a while, then turned and left the woods.

By the time he returned home the sun was low in the sky. A thousand thoughts churning in his head, he nearly walked right into the house before he remembered that his fresh festival clothes were now ripped and soiled from his traipse into the woods. He paused outside the door to cast Disguise Self and restore his clothes to a presentable state. A familiar and terrible cacophony of a duet rang from his house. Una’s lovely voice drifted above as his father’s rasping notes wandered in and out of key. Bren's heart lifted immediately and he hurried inside. A tall man with dark red hair was waltzing his mother in tiny circles, round and round the house. His breath caught in his chest. He hoped there were no tears in his eyes but could not be sure. He felt more sure than ever that he had chosen the right path.

“Father, Mother, I’m home.”  
  
"Hey!"

Leofric Ermendrud spun his wife in a final twirl and bowed with a flourish. Una smiled at him, though there was a flash of concern in her eyes. Bren walked up to both his parents and hugged them tightly with an arm around each person. Una and Leofric looked at each other confused at this display of affection. Then they grinned, and returned the hug strongly. Bren buried his face in his father's shoulder for several moments. He breathed deeply the familiar smells of sun, earth, sweat and tobacco. Then, Leofric patted his shoulder and pulled away. 

“Come, son. Lest we dance through the night and miss the feast, eh? It’s off to Oderman Hall!”  
  
Leofric thumped his son on the back enthusiastically, and all three were off for the first night of Highsummer festivities.

It was village tradition for the Odermans to host a feast on the first night of Highsummer, to which all were invited. Oderman Hall was the largest building in the village, normally used for the mayor’s administrative duties, but cleared from time to time for such events. The Hall faced the open square in the village centre, where a large bonfire was burning fiercely. Strings of paper lanterns adorned the trees. Scattered booths selling trinkets dotted the main path, also hung with brightly coloured lanterns. Long trestle tables already laid with large tureens and baskets of hearty foods stood to one side. A band of amateur musicians were tuning their strings to the other side. The youth of the village had formed their own cluster around the fire, dancing a rhythmic group dance in a circle without music. Laughter, clapping, stamping, and shouts filled the air. Bren felt a push at his back.

“Go on, spend time with the other children. We adults have grown-up things to do.” Leofric said gruffly.  
  
Bren nodded, and his parents moved to join the older folk of the village, standing around the food tables. He made no move to join the dancing but instead scanned the crowd till he saw her.

A dark-haired human woman who looked to be in her mid thirties sat at the end of the table nearest the bonfire, eyes roving over the faces of the village youth. She wore clothes too fine and fashionable to have been purchased within the village, and that same look of hunger in her green eyes. Bren suppressed a shudder. Liesel Balfager was the niece by marriage to Zivan Margolin, headmaster of the Soltryce Academy. Ostensibly she had come a-visiting, to see her childhood friend Magda. Magda Oderman, the mayor’s wife, sat to her side looking eager to please. Taking deep breaths, he moved away from Liesel, choosing to loiter near the musicians instead. In his peripheral vision he felt her green eyes flick towards him, and he looked at the lute player with great interest. Then he felt her gaze move on, and he relaxed.  


The circle of youths finished their dancing with a huge cheer, leaping in unison, and broke off laughing. Astrid waved him over, cheeks and eyes cast red from the firelight. Eodwulf crossed his arms.

“Too dignified for dancing, book-boy?” Eodwulf called mockingly.

“We heard you got into trouble with old Marcella, Bren.” Astrid tugged at his arm, pulling him towards the table where Liesel was sitting. He winced a little, and tried to find a space for the trio that wasn’t close to her. 

“It’s a funny story.” he commented, and recounted the incident outside the Chantry of the Sun, leaving out the part where he followed the child into the forest. Astrid clicked her tongue in sympathy. 

“Marcella’s a nasty old crone. She thinks she’s better than everyone just because she visits Rexxentrum every month and buys her clothes from there. But I wonder why the elf ran into the woods? There's nothing there but wild snakes and wolves.”  
  
“Maybe it really was a demon.” Eodwulf quipped, wiggling his hands and making a snarling face. Astrid slapped his brawny arm to no apparent effect, and laughing, they settled down for the meal.  


Almost three-quarters of the village youths were packed at that table and the talk grew lively. Harvest festivals were some of the few occasions when beer and wine flowed freely, and the viands were excellent. Bren felt too anxious to eat much, but his friends filled his plate with assorted foods unbidden. To placate them, he ate some of it. He had to hide tears again at the first bite. He’d not tasted the foods of his hometown in such a long while. Astrid looked at him oddly, but said nothing. Eodwulf said nothing as well, but leaned on his side, a comforting weight and warmth. When it was clear he could not eat anymore, Astrid stood up, wiping crumbs off her dress.  
  
“Come on, they’re doing riddle-guessing games and the grand prize is a puppy. Or a pewter ring. Or a magical plum. Anyway, I want to play.” 

The other two agreed easily and they stood up together. Before they could leave the table, Magda Oderman approached them, hands clasped to her chest. The usually formidable woman seemed to almost vibrate with nervousness.

“My dears, would you do me a favour? My closest friend is visiting from the capital and I would so love to show her we in the outskirts are capable of sophisticated fun too.”

“To fulfill your lightest wish is my deepest calling, madam.” Astrid replied blithely, lips quirked in a lop-sided smile. 

“Thank you! I knew I could count on you! And you too!” Magda pounced on Astrid and Eodwulf, pulling both of them away by the wrists. Bren watched them leave, and walked behind one of the nearby buildings to recast his disguise spell. He briefly considered excusing himself and going home, but then walked after them into Oderman Hall.

The interior of Oderman Hall was long, wide, and emptied of the usual furniture. The walls were paneled with light wooden blocks, the floors covered with red stone tiles. Two large chandeliers hung overhead, with 88 burning candles each. The musicians had relocated within the hall, and  a plethora of villagers were already dancing cheerfully in circles. With a great effort from Magda, the dancing villagers began to clear a large space within the centre of the hall. Bren looked around to snag a good viewing spot before everyone else, and found a relatively quiet space on the mezzanine floor above.  The musicians paused to tune their instruments, and for a time nothing was happening. Astrid and Eodwulf had been whisked into a side chamber to change their clothes for performance attire. Bren rested his arms on the parapet and tried to remember exactly what would happen next. 

“Hello there, nice spot you’ve found, isn’t it? Would you mind sharing it with me for a while?”  
  
Behind him sounded the cultured tones of Liesel Balfager. She spoke Zemnian like a foreign tongue, though he knew she’d been raised in the Zemni Fields. Bren kept his expression neutral and shook his head.

“Be my guest.”

Then he turned away and tried to ignore her to focus on the floor below. Astrid and Eodwulf had changed their sensible shoes for shoes with higher heels and buckles that sparkled in the candlelight. She wore a monstrosity of a pink lacy gown with puffed sleeves and ridiculously full skirts that reached to the floor even in heels. The dress contrasted wonderfully with her resting grim face. He wore a shirt and pants in a ludicrously clashing shade of green, though he still contrived to look every bit the village heartbreaker. The outfits likely belonged to the Odermans and their taste or lack of in fashion showed. Astrid looked around the room before she found him staring from above, and pulled a face at him before turning her attention back to Magda. The room quieted as Astrid and Eodwulf took their starting position to one end of the room. The cellist began to saw away at his strings, and a mournful, dark melody began to swell from the crudely made instrument. 

As the couple began to dance, Liesel spoke to him again.  
  
“Would you like to see something interesting?”  
  
He turned his blandest expression on her and shrugged. Liesel rubbed her palms together, muttered something under her breath and made a throwing motion out towards the dancing couple. A collective gasp travelled around the room and rose to their ears. Eodwulf was now dressed all in black, his hair shorter, and styled in a fashion yet to be seen in Blumenthal. Astrid’s dress had become more close fitting on the top. Her skirts were still full, but now did not pouf in the cupcake style, instead flowing with the lines of her body. The colour appeared black at first, but then shifted as she moved, at times dark violet, at times sapphire blue. At one full spin, her skirts whirled around her, and the dress shifted to the red of blood. Bren took a step back at that, the memory of copper lingering in his nose. 

“What do you think?” Liesel leaned on the parapet beside him, looking up into his face searchingly.

“It is an impressive trick.” Bren replied lightly, eyes following his friends as they navigated a gamut of dance routines imparted by tutors Magda had invited from Rexxentrum. With the visual transformation, the energy in the room heightened, and both his childhood friends seemed almost to spark with inspiration as they danced across the hall.

“Don’t you want to know how it was done?” Liesel pressed on, undeterred by his apparent lack of interest.

He hesitated before responding.  
  
“How was it done?”

Liesel’s eyes lit up as he took the bait.  
  
“But you know, don’t you?" His heart sank. She leaned closer. "There is magic on you. Small parlor tricks. You could learn to do so much more.”  
  
Bren cursed silently. He’d been caught out, and events were playing out the same way again, only even earlier than they’d begun the last time. Thoughts whirred in his brain and he wished he dared to turn invisible and run away. Instead, he turned his blankest expression on her.

“How do you mean?”

Liesel’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head consideringly.  
  
“Do you really not know what I mean?” 

Bren took a step back and put some distance between them. Hunters catch the scent of fear like nothing else. He did his best to manufacture an expression that said she was an eccentric, possibly not of sound mind, making him mildly uncomfortable.  
  
“Madam, your company has been most illuminating and I thank you for it. If you will excuse me, it is about time for me to return home.”

With those words, he turned and fled down the steps, Liesel’s laughter ringing behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caleb's father was canonically part of the Empire's military. However, he grew up relatively poor. In this story, I am working off the assumption that his father had sustained some form of injury that rendered him unfit for service, and was in semi-retirement as a farm worker by this point.


	5. my heart will stop if I put out the fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anybody can make lights  
> anyone could send messages through a wire  
> I want

He should take the spellbook and run. He should leave and break the cycle now. Save his parents and his friends from their bleak futures. He rummaged through the junkpiles of his ancestors' belongings and located what appeared to be his grandmother's component pouch. He packed this and the spellbook into a small cloth bag. He got up from bed and lay back down again. He talked to Frumpkin through the night.  
  
Dawn of the next day arrived, and he had not run. He lay on his side in his bed, staring at Frumpkin, and listening to the sounds of his parents belowstairs getting ready for the day. And he did not run. His eyes hurt and his brain felt clouded by a grey haze. A dull jolting ache ran along the base of his neck down his arms and manifested in a slight tremor of his fingers. Outside his window, a raven cawed twice. He dressed and went down for breakfast.

He was immediately conscious of both parents’ eyes on him as he came down the stairs. They looked curiously thoughtful. Una seemed to smile a little sadly at him as he wished them both a good morning. Bren sat and helped himself to bread and cheese. Leofric drank deeply from his mug of breakfast ale. Una watched him eat. There seemed an air of waiting, measuring. Anticipation hung in the air. Bren tried to ignore all of it, and chewed steadily, washing down the food with cold well water. His mother was the first to break the silence.

“Bren, do you remember Magda’s friend from the capital? You spoke with her last night at the festival.”

“Yeah?” Bren finished the last of his bread and met his mother’s eyes.

“Liesel Balfager is a scout from the Soltryce Academy. She says you have the potential to do well.” said Una.

“That’s a bit of a stretch. We barely spoke for ten seconds.” Bren answered lightly.

“It could be a good opportunity for you, Bren. You know, we haven’t been able to provide much for you. But if you went to the Academy, you could make a name for yourself.” Leofric said gruffly.

“Your grandmother had a gift for magic, Bren, though you never met her. She couldn’t afford to go to the Academy then, but now Liesel says there is a scholarship program you could try for.” Una added excitedly.

Bren looked up at his parents. Una was sitting on the edge of her chair, so keen was she to support this idea. Leofric looked very solemn and thoughtful.

“Mother, Father. It sounds nice enough I think, but I think -“  
  
“Why don’t you take some time to consider it? There’s no hurry. Liesel will be staying in Blumenthal for a week. You could talk to her further about it.” Una cut through his objections and stood up.

Bren stood and began collecting plates and cups from the table.  
  
“I’ll consider it if you want me to, but I think it’s probably not for me.”  
  
“Consider it, Bren.” Leofric agreed. His parents exchanged a look. Then Leofric kissed his wife and son on the cheek and left for the day’s work.  
  
Una did some work as temporary help for the Geiselhart family during harvest time, and Bren was roped in as well. The second day of Highsummer was spent winnowing wheat that was not their own, listening to Una’s occasional attempts to sell him on the Soltryce Academy. The work was one he was unaccustomed to now, and the physical exhaustion helped to quiet his thoughts by filling his head with white noise. When the day’s work was done, he sat on the ground outside his house and stared at the woods, Frumpkin draped across his shoulders. From a nearby tree, a raven cawed thrice. As he looked in its direction, it flew off towards the fields. He closed his eyes.

“Bren. Bren!”

A golden voice cut through his thoughts. When he didn’t respond quickly enough, he felt Eodwulf slip something into the hair above his ears, and reached up to pull it off. He looked into his hand. He held between his fingers a thornless red rose, smelling sweetly. A lean, muscled hand slapped his arm, disturbing Frumpkin, who leaped off his shoulders. Bren looked up at his friends, who seemed to be excited about something. He noted that they were dressed not in workaday attire, but their third or second-best outfits.

“Astrid, Wulf, you look like something’s up.”

“Something is up, as you said! How did you guess? Do you already know?”  
  
“What?” Bren asked, though he had a bad feeling he did know.

“We had tea with Liesel today. She invited about six or seven of us, and she’s just the most fascinating person, isn’t she, Wulf?”  
  
Eodwulf nodded.

“And she taught me this!”

Astrid reached into her pockets and pulled out two rounds of grey-black stone. Bren’s eyes widened and he got to his feet in a hurry.

“Look, let me show you.”

She reached for his jacket, but Bren took several steps back. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing, nothing’s wrong.” he stuttered just a little.  
  
“Then sit, and hold still a moment.”  
  
Astrid closed the distance and sat in front of him. She struck the two stones together, speaking slowly and carefully. Then she held her open palm out towards his jacket. There was a flash, and some of the rips in his jacket pressed their edges together. One square foot of his jacket now looked as good as new. Astrid clapped her hands together in excitement and looked to him for praise.  
  
“Thanks, I guess.” Bren muttered.

“You should ask Liesel to teach you it too - or I could teach you if you wanted to! She can do lots of things!”

“I think I’m good, thank you.” Bren said resolutely.  
  
“Oh. Alright.”  
  
A flicker of disappointment reached her eyes, and she plopped herself on the ground, face towards the sky. Eodwulf joined them, lying down on the patch of grass and earth outside his house.

“Do you ever want to leave Blumenthal? Do you ever wonder what it’s like outside of here?” Astrid asked in the direction of the sky.

“Maybe. One day. Not right now, though.” Bren said quietly.

“Well I want to leave this stuffy old place. I want to leave it right now. I want to see everything that I’ve only heard about in stories. Meet people from outside the Empire. And Bren, I think we can leave. We can leave now, all three of us.”  
  
Astrid rolled to her side and looked at him keenly. Bren closed his eyes and said nothing. To his left, he heard Eodwulf’s voice mutter some arcane words, though he spoke even slower than Astrid had, they were cleanly pronounced. A soft strain of music came to his ears, like a stray fiddle, though there was no one but the three of them and his mother for half a mile in all directions. Bren glanced at Eodwulf, who grinned in pride at his new trick.

“I thought this would be something you’d like, Bren.” Eodwulf said earnestly. “You’ve been acting a little strangely since yesterday. Did something happen? You can tell us anything.”

Astrid nodded emphatically on his right.

“It’s complicated.”  
  
Bren began to speak, then stopped. Astrid and Eodwulf waited patiently for him to continue. What could he say to dissuade his friends? What could he do to save them? He tried again.   
  
“Liesel -“  
  
Before he could finish his sentence, the ringing of bells began in the distance, getting louder and closer, joined by more and more bells. With each peal, fear bit more deeply into his heart. Someone had been injured in the fields. All three children leapt to their feet. Astrid and Eodwulf’s parents were not farm workers, but they felt anxiety on his behalf.  
  
“Bren.” his mother called to him.  
  
Una stood in the doorway looking pale.  
  
“Will you run and see what’s happened?”  
  
“Yes, I’ll go right away.”  
  
“We’ll go with him.” said Eodwulf.  
  
Astrid nodded. The trio ran as fast as they could towards the Chantry of the Sun.

The Chantry of the Sun provided most of the village’s medicinal needs in addition to divine healing in exchange for offerings. Half of the rooms in the compound were utilised for this function. Any who needed urgent help were brought first to Pelor’s healers. Eodwulf reached the temple first, followed by Astrid. Bren reached more than several seconds after, stitches in his sides, completely out of breath.

“Brother! Has someone been brought in from the fields?” Eodwulf called out to a passing member of the clergy carrying a large wooden medicine box.  
  
“Leofric Ermendrud was just brought in.” Brother Ludolf answered and hurried away to an inner room.  
  
Bren shook his head jerkily. This wasn't supposed to happen. This had never happened originally. The trio followed him on his heels. Once at the room, they found they could not enter. Brother Ludolf set down his medicine box and gently but resolutely barred the doorway. Bren stood on the tips of his toes and tried to peer into the room. Laid on a bed, eyes closed, was his father. He couldn’t discern any injuries from where he was standing, but he seemed to be breathing still. The room already held a cleric, two farm workers who had helped to carry Leofric, and there was little space for anyone to maneuver. Brother Ludolf shooed the farm workers out as well.

“We need space and time to work. We’ll let you know if anything changes.” he said firmly, and shut the door on all of them.

Bren looked at the farm workers, and recognised them as Markus and Theophil, his father’s old friends.

“Please, tell me what happened to my father.”

Theophil scratched his head.  
  
“Well, we’re not too sure what happened. We were out working and I turned to say something to Leo, and he was lying face-down in the ground. We tried to wake him up, but he wouldn’t wake, so we brought him here.”

Markus nodded behind him. Bren pressed his hands into his eyes, thinking furiously. This incident had not occurred in the original timeline. Had randomness caused the pattern of events to change? Was something else at work? He felt two hands press comfortingly onto his shoulders, one smaller, one larger.

“I’m alright. Thanks. And thank you for letting me know, and for bringing him here. I'm very grateful. We’ll just have to wait now.”

“We’ll wait with you.” said Astrid.

“Actually, I’ll run to your house and let Una know.” Eodwulf decided.

“Oh I can do that.”  
  
“I run faster.” Eodwulf said bluntly.

“Then, thank you.” Bren agreed.

Eodwulf took off sprinting. Markus and Theophil excused themselves and left. The remaining two sat outside the treatment room in silence, waiting. What felt like an eternity passed before Astrid broke the silence.

“You know, Bren. If you became a wizard, you could earn enough money that your parents wouldn’t have to work anymore, and they’d be safe.”  
  
He recoiled away from her like she was a poisonous snake. Her eyes widened.

“Astrid. I know you mean well. But please don’t talk to me about that right now.”

“Okay, okay. Okay. I won’t. I won’t mention it again.”  
  
She stretched out a hand uncertainly, and when he did not move away, patted his knee.

“It will be okay, everything will be alright.” she said convincingly. 

They continued to sit in silence.  Some time after, the door of the treatment room opened, and Brother Ludolf stepped out. Bren and Astrid stood up quickly. 

“How is my father, Brother?”  
  
“We have yet to discover what illness ails him. He will not wake.”

“You have yet to discover in all that time? It wasn’t just the heat or overwork?” Astrid demanded.

“Peace, child. He is in no immediate danger. Father Leon is with him. You can trust your father in his hands.”  
  
Brother Ludolf attempted to shoo them out of the area, but Bren pushed past him, assisted by Astrid, who blocked Ludolf’s path bodily.

“I want to see my father.” 

He pushed the door open and rushed into the room. The room was rather sparsely furnished. A table, a bed, and a chair, with white walls and white stone floor. On the chair sat a relatively young-looking man that he guessed was Father Leon. Father Leon laid his palms on his father's chest, palms emanating white light. Beads of sweat ran down his face, frowning in concentration. Bren twisted his fingers together and waited till the white light faded away. His father lay on the bed, unwaking. Bren knelt by the side of the bed, and gently took his father’s hand in his. He did his own unskilled medicine check, feeling his father’s pulse, listening for his breathing, looking at the colour of his face. Had he not known his father would not wake, he would have sworn he was only in a normal sleep. He looked, sounded, and felt completely healthy from his amateur inspection. Through it all, Father Leon watched patiently. 

“Father?” Bren called tentatively. “It’s me. I’m here.”  
  
There was no response from his father. Bren was conscious of a fine tremor beginning in his own shoulders and arms, and spoke without looking at Father Leon.

“What’s wrong with him? What happened?”

Father Leon looked at him keenly, then glanced at the door, which was shut. Astrid had not followed him into the room. 

“This is no normal illness, boy. Normal healing magic will not wake him. There is no physical sign of illness for now, but if he does not wake, he will eventually waste away.”

“What? How? Why is this happening?”  


“I do not know, I am sorry. This is beyond my abilities.”  
  
“What can I do to help, tell me and I will do it!”  
  
Father Leon made calming motions with his hands.  
  
“There may be more highly skilled clerics in Rexxentrum who might be able to offer aid, though it is not often that they are willing to travel to the outskirts.” Father Leon bent his head regretfully. “I will continue to look after your father, and pray, but that is all we can do for him now.”

Bren pressed his father’s hand to his forehead. Father Leon stood up and made as if to leave, but paused at the door.

“Son, do you know of anything your father has done that may have offended the spirits, or the gods?” 

Bren shook his head slowly.  
  
“My family have always kept faith with the Dawnfather. And we never slighted the other gods of the Empire.”

Father Leon nodded non-commitally.

"Keep faith, child, and walk in the light."

Father Leon patted his back, then left the room. Astrid entered the room as he left. Taking in the scene with a sweeping glance, she said nothing, only stood with her arms folded, her back leaning against the wall. Watching. He continued to kneel at his father’s bedside, thinking. His father had not offended the gods, but he had offended at least one god. Was this a punishment, or a warning? Time passed, and his legs went numb from kneeling. Voices sounded outside the room. A short discussion occurred. Then a knock came at the door, and Una peered in. Eodwulf's head and shoulders towered behind her.  
  
"Mother." He winced at the despair in his voice.   
  
Mutely, she moved to sit in the vacant chair beside the bed. Bren watched as his mother mirrored his previous actions in her own way. She smoothed his hair back, ran her hands over his face, neck, hands. She put her ear to his chest as if to listen to his heartbeat. Then she joined him in kneeling by the bed, clasped her hands together, and bent her head in silent prayer. He mimicked her actions, but knew not what to pray for or who to pray to.   
  
As the sun set, the room darkened. He heard Eodwulf mutter behind him, and the candles in the wall sconces were lit. With the sputter of flame piercing his vision, he realised he’d made his decision.  Bren struggled to his feet, and held onto the bedpost for several minutes until feeling returned to his legs.

“Thank you for being here with us.” 

“Of course.” Astrid replied neutrally. Concern flickered in her eyes, but she said nothing more. 

Eodwulf grunted.

“I’m going to head home, someone should look after the house.”  
  
“We'll come with you.”  
  
“No need, you should head home. Your parents will be wondering where you are.”

“Wulf helped me send word earlier, they know.”  
  
Bren nodded dumbly.  
  
"I will stay here with your father till he wakes. Look after yourself for a day or so, okay?" Una squeezed his arm and smiled.  
  
Bren nodded, smiling numbly at his mother.  
  
They left the room, which opened into the large internal courtyard where the sacred sun tree grew. Dozens of lanterns and lamps kept the interior of the temple brightly illuminated. Darkness met them as they left the Chantry of the Sun.  
  
Linking hands, the trio walked the long path home.  
  
One step.  
  
Two.  
  
Three.  
  
Four.

Five.


	6. I'll follow the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind  
> Cannot bear very much reality

It was odd how they'd seemed to be rushing from one far flung destination to another without pause in the past month. Now it looked like there was no pressing matter that required the Nein's presence or attention. Anything they had to settle could be tackled on the morrow, or even on the week after. A nice change of pace.

Jester joined Fjord and Beau on their intensive morning workout. She played with Nugget and Sprinkle. She did a dramatic narration of choice chapters of Tusk Love in the foyer with Veth and Yasha as her audience. She baked scones and cookies with Caduceus, filling the house with the scents of butter, cinnamon, vanilla, truffles and blueberries. Then she grabbed Yasha by the hand and together they painted fields of flowers on the walls of the room with the porcelain cat figurines that belonged to no one. Through it all she smiled, joked, and laughed, and her friends smiled, joked, and laughed with her too. At the end of it all she found herself wandering into the study-laboratory with a piercing headache and unfamiliar wish to be alone somewhere quiet.

The mixed scents of sulfur, phosphorus, and sweet incense lingered in the room. There had not been any experiments conducted here for a while. A small number of books lined one unit of shelves while glass jars and other apparatus lined the rest. Two small chairs and a long table was pushed tidily to one side, leaving a wide open space in the centre of the room. A small bundle of slender charcoal sticks was set on the table, and she helped herself to a few. In the corner of the room was a comfortable looking couch, and this she sank into, sketchbook in hand. It was blessedly quiet, and she felt her the gripping pain in her temples ease slightly. Charcoal in hand, she doodled peacefully in her sketchbook for a while. Starting with the usual dicks, moving on to animal drawings.

Not wanting to focus her eyes too much, she drew with broader, rougher strokes than usual. Silhouettes, and outlines with rough shading leapt from her fingers onto paper. Though not detailed, the figures seemed charged with life, and she admired her own work.

In one corner of the page, a moth flew towards a candle flame. Two giant eagles against a dark sky flew on the right hand side of the paper. The bottom left corner was taken up by a realistic sketch of an ape riding on the back of a mammoth. Right at the bottom was an ant carrying a piece of bread five times its size. Pretty good.

On the next page she drew nothing, only wrote in Infernal.

_I am really happy now. I found friends. I found my dad. I think everything is going to be okay. And I’m really glad that you have lots of friends to hang out with too besides me. Thanks for helping us out on Rumblecusp. I knew you would help me. I think I still need your help, even though you’re busy now. I’m not sure how. I wish you could talk to me like you used to._

A couple of words blurred as drops of water fell onto the paper. She blinked, and more drops fell.

“Oh shit.” Hurriedly, she pressed her sleeve to the drops, soaking up the moisture but blackening her sleeve. She wiped her eyes, and set the book aside to dry for a bit.

“Traveler? Are you here?” she called out tentatively. No response came.

“Traveler, I know you’re busy, but I would really like to talk to you.”

Only silence answered her. She held the holy symbol of the Traveler in her hand, thinking, and thinking.

The feeling of sourceless anxiety, of fear, that she had pushed away had returned. Some subtle intuition had told her chasing those forgotten memories would not necessarily be a pleasant experience. She’d thought that if she was happier without remembering, it would be better to forget. Someone had told her that if modifying memories could make the person happy, sometimes that was okay.

But it wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay with it. She didn’t want to forget. She didn’t want to accept it. Even if the memories were painful ones, they were hers, and no one should take them away from her. Sometimes, even sadness could be beautiful. She didn’t want to lose her sadness. It was hers.

Jester retrieved a vial of holy water from her haversack, and cast it round her in a circle, pulling on the divine bond between her god and herself.

“Traveler! I want to ask you something!”

Sitting on the table in front of her, the green-cloaked archfey appeared, looking even more tired than the last time she saw him. His shoulders hunched a little now, and his eyes were half-closed. Then he saw her, and his eyes lit up.

“Jester, it is good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too Traveler. You’re looking a little tired.”

“I have so much to do now. So many followers needing my attention. So many problems to solve.” the Traveler sighed dramatically. “No matter, I am here, and you have three questions.”

Jester nodded and leaned forward seriously.  
  
“I do. Traveler, is there a way for me to remember what I’ve forgotten?”  
  
The Traveler smiled a little sadly as he answered.

“Yes.”

“Will it work if I use magic to cure myself? Like restore my own memories?”

He shook his head slowly.

“No.”

“Shit. Okay okay okay. Let me think.”

The Traveler steepled his fingers and waited, tapping one foot on the table. Jester took a breath.

“Last question. Is that man, the one that we saw in the room on Rumblecusp. The one I know I’ve forgotten and no one else seems to remember. Is he still alive somewhere?”

The Traveler leaned backwards, pride suffusing his tired features.  
  
“Well done." A moment of hesitation crossed his face. "He is alive… somewhere.”

Jester lunged forward, grabbing her deity by the hands.

“Please! If you know where he is, take me to him! I need to go there! It’s really really really really important to me!”

“Whoa - hey!” The Traveler jumped a little in surprise. “Jester, that isn't a good idea. She doesn't like me very much.”

“I need to see him, I need to know. I need to remember who he is. I need to ask him why he made us forget.”

“Jester.” The Traveler said seriously. “If you go there, I might not be able to keep you safe.”

“I’ll be okay. Trust me.” said Jester without hesitation.

The archfey seemed to hold an internal conference with himself for several seconds. Jester stared as winningly as she knew how to into his eyes. Finally, he sighed.  
  
"If it all goes bad, just leave, okay? Don't look back."  
  
"Okay. I won't." she agreed readily.   
  
The Traveler placed a small object in her left palm and closed her fingers on it.   
  
"Make sure not to lose that."   
  
Then he wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. She looked up, and saw a twinkle of mischief and excitement in his eye.   
  
"Let's go on a journey, shall we?"   
  
Jester nodded and shut her eyes. Ground and air shifted around her. Then all was still.


	7. take it from the weakest soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> falling on the deafest ears  
> crying to the blindest eyes

He was standing outside his house, the strange man from the forest. Bren felt instinctively that it was him, though he looked so different now. A bird-like mask of blackened leather covered his face. The brown armour of the previous day was gone, replaced by intricately patterned black leather, and a mantle of feathers. A growth of inhuman white bone protruded from his shoulder. A chill bit into his spine. Astrid and Eodwulf did not react at his presence. The man did not move towards them, or say anything, only watched. Bren flinched a little as they walked past him, and his friends’ grip on him tightened.

“It’s nothing. Just a little cold.” he reassured.

“It is pretty cold. Weird, really.” Astrid commented.

“We can light the fireplace and camp downstairs.” Eodwulf decided.

There was little in the house to offer his guests except bread and water. Eodwulf produced a square of cloth wrapped around a jar of dried fruit in honey and passed it round. They lit a fire, and retrieved a pillow and two blankets from the attic room. The children huddled in front of the fire on the floor, and took turns telling stories all of them knew. Bren began with the story of the goose that laid golden eggs. Eodwulf followed with the tale of the forest witch. Astrid picked ‘the Crumbs on the Table’. When it came round to him again, Bren glanced at his friends, then looked away to stare at the fire.

“There was once a widower with a daughter who was very precious to him. The widower was a merchant, and often had to sail on dangerous voyages to earn coin. Before he left on each trip, he would ask his daughter what she would like him to bring as a gift.”

Bren paused to listen. He heard the slow and sleepy breaths of his friends beside him, and the crackling of firewood. A soft caw from outside the house.

“Nothing would please me more, dear father, than a rose such as none grow in this country. The father laughed, and agreed. I promise to return with the most beautiful rose I see, that even people from the land of roses would envy.”  
  
Bren crushed a dried snake's tongue coated with sweet oil, ran a knuckle coated with oil across his bottom lip, and spoke in the same rhythm and cadence, as if he were still telling the story.  
  
“You must be tired, why don’t you sleep and wake when the first cockerel crows?”  
  
Carefully, he repeated the same gesture, speaking calmly.

“I can continue the story later, I think it would be good to sleep now till my mother comes to wake us.”

His friends did not respond. Bren waited, listening to the sounds of their breathing for a minute before he rolled around to look at them. Their eyes were fully shut, and they appeared to be in a deep sleep.

“Rest well, friends.”  
  
He got up lightly to his feet, and exited his childhood home. Frumpkin watched him impassively as he left, eyes wide in the darkness. The strange man was nowhere to be seen, but a single raven stood on the path outside his house, tilting its head inquiringly. He noticed, where the raven hopped about, a patch of snowdrops were blossoming where previously no flowers grew.

“What do you want from me?” he asked the bird.

The raven looked at him with one eye. Then it flew up suddenly, and darted away in the direction of the woods.

“Wait!” he called, and ran after it.

The second venture into the woods was much easier than the first. Bren spoke several arcane words and threw his hand forward, sending globules of light to chase the bird and light his way. Though the ground was still uneven, he felt he could move faster. The plants seemed almost to go out of their way to avoid tearing at his limbs. The raven flew surely, not too quickly for him to follow. At times, when he fell too far behind, it would hop onto a branch and wait, before flying forward again.  
  
Finally, they reached the same clearing, the same gravestone, and the still pool. The raven perched atop the gravestone, and when Bren reached the edge of the pool, leapt suddenly into the air, and dove into the pool. It did not come up again.

The scent of cold metal and sweetness thickened in the air. Bren peered a little closer at the pool and dipped a hand in it. The liquid was thick, and his hand came away red.

“Do you want me to follow?” Bren asked.

No response.

“You know, there is a lot of merit to clear spoken instructions.”

No response.

He put one foot experimentally into the pool. Even at the edge, it was deeper than he expected. His leg sank in to mid-thigh immediately. The cold clung to his skin and clothing, filled his boot. He began shivering uncontrollably. He felt he could not bring himself to go deeper, and could not turn back either. A moment passed. Another moment passed. He was alone in the clearing, facing an unmarked gravestone, in the forest he’d been taught not to enter as a child, especially not at night.

He raised his other foot, and stepped into the pool. The cold was numbing. Already he could not feel his right foot. Then he took a deep breath, and walked in further, fully submerging himself.

The cold made it harder for him to hold onto that breath. He tried to swim downwards, feeling for a bottom, but there was none. Finally, his breath ran out and he inhaled blood. He struggled vainly. He felt the cold burn his lungs for a second, and then it was warm. He felt dry, not sticky. He could breathe comfortably. He opened his eyes.

Black emptiness stretched before him for what looked like a hundred feet. Above him, tiny pinpricks of silver winked in and out of existence. He looked down. Beyond the empty space, an impossibly intricate filigree of silver threads stretched for miles, criss-crossing endlessly. He shuddered, and wrapped his arms around himself.

Out of the darkness, a small light grew larger, closer. The light whitened into a white porcelain mask, the darkness around it solidified, gained definition, and became long locks of black hair. The mask drew nearer, and then it was attached to a face, and the face was connected to a body, draped in black linen. The figure seemed at once both impossibly tall and wide, yet only the size and height of an average human woman.  
  
To her right and left, Una and Leofric Ermendrud stood, eyes closed, limbs hanging limply. Their bodies hung on silver threads of light, drawn from the center of their chests.  
  
Bren lifted his chin, and tried to steady his limbs, looking steadfastly at the apparition.  
  
"Please, let them go."  
  
The apparition seemed to speak, though the lips of the mask did not move. The voice was soft, sweet, and he felt it sing in his bones. In that gentle sound rang the instinctive dread of hearing death bells toll. The primitive fear of the unknown. The terror of imagination made reality. He might have run if he had anywhere left to run to.

“You, who would thwart the paths of destiny. You, who would snatch souls that have been claimed from the natural transition. Now you come to me to bargain? Now that you have set foot into my domain, what lets you believe that you can leave unharmed? One who has burnt the threads of fate, causing millions of others to fray and shatter. You have left a path that many others will be tempted to follow, if I allow them.”

At these words, he finally made the connection. The goddess of death and destiny. He stood before the Raven Queen herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to find some definitive colour-scheme for the threads of fate, they seem to have been described in-canon as white or gold. In general it seems they are strands that appear to be composed of light. For the sake of consistency, in this story I will describe them as silver.


	8. Put the fire out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't run from your problems, just put them on hold  
> The last thing you want is to be all alone

“Good luck, my dear. I believe in you.”  
  
Jester felt a soft kiss on her forehead, and she was no longer covered by a green cloak.  
  
She opened her eyes, and she was alone, except for a child outlined in darkness. He appeared to be no older than 15, but there was a weariness in his posture and expression beyond his apparent years. Though the child was shorter and younger than the man that had vanished on Rumblecusp, Jester felt instinctively that they were the same person. Ginger hair a shade darker than the Traveler's, blue eyes filled with grim resolve. Even now, looking at his face, she did not know who he was, could not remember ever having met him. But the knot of dread and loss she had carried for the past two days seemed to come undone. She felt silly with relief. She had finally found him. She found herself smiling uselessly and chided herself to focus and assess the situation. She looked around.  
  
Around them stretched unending darkness that her darkvision could not pierce, interspersed with fine threads that glowed gently. Masses of thin silver thread gathered around her feet, like cobwebs on roses in summer. Without looking down at her hand, she slipped whatever it was the Traveler had given her into her pocket. As she watched, the child spoke to himself.  
  
“It was worth the attempt. I had to try.”

Jester tried to call out to the child, but no voice came from her throat. She tried to run to him, but no matter how many steps she took, he seemed just the same distance away. Her limbs felt tired and heavy.

“I beseech you.” the child spoke again, in that soft and weary voice. “My parents were innocent. They are innocent.”

There was a pause, as if he were listening for a response.  
  
“If you must have a soul to balance the scales, take mine instead.”

“No!” Jester yelled, but still no sound came. She stopped trying to run towards the figure, and closed her eyes.

“Guide me, Traveler.” she mouthed soundlessly, and felt a instant warmth suffuse her.  
  
She took several steps forward blindly, and felt for a moment like she was pressing against soft fabric. She pushed with all her strength, and felt it give, heard an awful ripping round. She opened her eyes. She stood closer towards the child. Now she saw the woman before them, wrapped in shadows, face obscured by a white porcelain mask. To her sides hung two limp human bodies, like dolls on silver strings.

“So creepy.” Jester commented. Her voice now sounded and reverberated in the empty space. “Whoops.”

The mask turned towards her, and seemed to grow larger and larger, till it seemed the eyes of the mask were holes of darkness as wide as she was tall. As she looked into the gaping emptiness of her eyes, the force of the woman’s anger pressed against her. Inexplicable fear and dread washed over her, threatening to overwhelm her senses. She was so very small and insignificant, how could she dare to address this entity? That oppressive aura was strong and expansive beyond her comprehension. She knew now that she stood before a deity. The goddess of death, the Raven Queen. With an effort, her hand went to the symbol of the Traveler on her belt, and she whispered to herself.

“There is nothing to be afraid of here.”

Immediately she felt herself calm, the warmth from her deity centering her. She no longer felt afraid. She stared back defiantly at the porcelain mask, and it seemed to grow smaller, and smaller, until it became about the size of a regular human face. The mask watched her impassively. Jester turned her back on the woman firmly, and faced the ginger-haired child.

The child stared at her with the oddest mix of conflicting emotions on his face, eyes blinking rapidly. He looked like he was looking at a ghost. Disbelief flashed across his face, replaced by horror, replaced by the faintest glimmer of something else - joy?, replaced by grim resolve. She would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so horribly unreal.

“Hey.” Jester called softly.  
  
She walked up to the kid and got down on one knee before him.  
  
“I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s going to be okay. The mean lady is not going to hurt you.”

The child shook his head slightly. His gaze slid past hers towards the woman standing behind her. The despair in his eyes cut like a physical knife. Jester took his hand and held it in both of hers. His eyes snapped back to her, and the grimness in them was achingly familiar.

“I don’t remember who you are.” she said slowly. “But I think that you were probably someone really important to me.”

He shook his head slowly.   
  
"Do you know who I am?"  
  
He smiled a familiar lopsided smile, only the left side of his face pulling up. Then he cast his eyes downwards and shook his head again. A couple of drops caught the faint light as they fell, and disappeared into the ether.  
  
“I think maybe you did something wrong, and maybe you wish you didn’t do it.”  
  
Jester felt a prickle on her neck as that same aura of oppression began to build once more. She tried to speak even faster.

“Anyway, don’t rush to sacrifice yourself. If you made a mistake, you can just say you’re sorry. It’s not too late.”

“It is too late.” the child said quietly.

She could see she’d lost his attention now. His focus had returned to the entity behind her shoulder.  
  
“I am willing to-” he began.

“No!” she cut through his words.  
  
“That’s stupid! You’re being stupid! Stop being stupid!” she said desperately.  
  
“Look, trust me.” She gripped his hand tightly, and stood up, turning to face the goddess.

The Raven Queen spoke. It did not sound to Jester like her voice came from the vision standing before her. Instead, the soft feminine voice seemed to emanate sourcelessly, existing only within her head.

“Will you stand against me?”  
  
“No.” She was proud to hear no tremor in her voice.

She thought hard about anything and everything she had ever heard about the Raven Queen. Caduceus would sometimes tell stories about the gods. Why couldn't she remember right now? What could she say to sway the Matron of Ravens? Could she even be reasoned with? She raised her eyes to that blank porcelain mask and hid a shudder. 

“Let’s talk this out. What did he do that was wrong, and how can we fix it?” Jester asked as bravely as she knew how.

“You are one who has patronage of the Trickster. So much about you is uncertain. People and events are forced to change around you. Curious child. I will show you.”

The Raven Queen extended a hand towards the silver weave. A mass of threads gathered at Jester’s feet, spreading outwards, wrapping with each other at times, thickening, joining into the wider weave surrounding all of them. Around the child, there were a dozen or so faint threads wrapped into a single thicker string that joined the weave, and this trailed behind him. In front of him was only emptiness. Half the threads extending from Jester seemed to thin a little way out, looking somewhat frayed, though unbroken.

“What he has done to the weave, has robbed you of part of your own destiny. And that of many others. By removing himself, and all potential manifestations of himself from the timeline, he has severed the threads of all who knew him, whose destinies were to be changed by him. He has attempted to steal two claimed souls from Pelor. His actions have placed the natural order at risk.”

The porcelain mask turned to face the child, and Jester moved to stand in front of him.

“Those whom you call dunamancers break and twist the threads of fate to serve their own ends. They seek to cheat destiny. Most never succeed in altering their inevitable ends. When one does, I intervene. As you have done. As I have done.”

Jester mulled this for a few seconds.

“When someone does this, does it mean that the people they met forget they ever met them?”

“It means that they will never have met.”

“Then why do I remember that I’ve forgotten? It feels like I have two sets of memories running by each other.”

“You are an interesting exception.”  
  
The mask remained expressionless, but Jester thought she heard a smile in her voice. The child’s hand tightened on hers.

“Enough. I admit my guilt. I own my fault in this matter. You wanted a soul to mend the harm I wrought. I-mmff!”

The child’s words cut off as a blue tiefling hand covered his mouth firmly.

“Sshh. I’m still talking. Okay... okay. So he broke something important, and now you want to mend it. And you need a soul to mend it. Is there something else you can use? Have you tried the Mending spell?”

If an unmoving mask could express amusement, the Raven Queen might have accomplished it.

“The threads of fate are spun from the energy of narrative potential contained within each soul. The raw essence of possibility unfulfilled. Your magic tricks are of little use here. But, there is something you could offer in trade.”

The mask drew closer. The child grasped her hand with his free hand, trying to pull it off. She smooshed his face more tightly with her hand.

“What is it that you want?”

“You have forged a bond with one who is no true deity. I would claim you for my own, if you were willing.”

“Don’t do it!”  
  
The child finally managed to wrench her hand off his face. Red finger-marks lined his cheeks where she had squished them for too long.  
  
“Don’t do it. Take mine, I am willing!”

The Raven Queen paid little attention to him, the mask remained facing in her direction.

“Will you accept this bargain?”

“Um. Let me think okay? You too.” Jester frowned reprovingly at the child. “Let me think about it.”  
  
“Please don’t make deals on my behalf.” the child said desperately. “It’s not worth it.”

“Quiet.” the Raven Queen said softly.

The child’s eyes widened. Though his mouth moved, no more sound came from his lips. Jester smiled encouragingly and gave him a thumbs up sign. She addressed the Raven Queen again.

“So if I do this thing, you’ll let him go?”

“I will.”  
  
“And his parents?”  
  
“They will live out their destinies before Pelor claims them.”

Jester nodded.

“If I say no, and you take this soul, what will happen?”

“His soul will be spun into the weave he destroyed. The timeline will be restored.”

“What will happen to me if I take your deal?”

“You will enter into my service. You will protect the sanctity of death. You will help me to guard against the perversion of the natural order.”  
  
“If you don’t use my soul to mend the weave, how will that fix things?”

The masked head tilted to the side slightly, an almost coquettish gesture.

“When one such as yourself enters my service, I am able to… mend a great deal.”

Jester nodded distractedly. She’d caught sight of something beyond the masked woman. A green-cloaked, ginger-haired man stood some distance behind her, a raven perched on his shoulder. The Traveler mimed reaching into something, and lifted his hand into the air. He vanished, but it was enough. The motion had sparked a glimmer of faint memory. An image of a ginger-haired man raising a dodecahedron towards the Bright Queen. Fear and resolution in his eyes. She smiled suddenly, and looked towards the child. He looked resigned, but through the despair in his eyes burned a fierce trust. Trust towards her.

“Okay, I think I understand. Before we go with those two options, I think I have another solution.”  
  
She opened her pink haversack and reached into it, fingers closing on the dodecahedron artefact she’d found in the room on Rumblecusp. She lifted it up above her shoulders with her left arm, a gesture of offering towards the Raven Queen. Crossing the fingers of her right hand at her side for luck, she spoke as persuasively as she could.

“This is a beacon. It's a very rare item. The dunamancers worship it. It's basically like their god. It’s filled with dunamancy magic, possibilities and things. Can you use this to fix the timeline?”

A terrible moment passed. In that heartbeat, Jester felt a faint sense of something shifting. In a single moment, it looked to her that the goddess was both pleased and displeased at once. Then the moment passed, and she could not read anything in the lines of that inscrutable white mask. She held her breath, afraid to pierce the silence, waiting.

Soft laughter rang in her ears, and continued to sound for a good while.  
  
Then the Raven Queen’s hands extended, hovering on either side of the dodecahedron. It seemed to react to her presence, glowing brighter, and brighter.

“Are you offering this artefact in exchange for your friend?”

Jester sucked in a breath in relief.

“I am.” 

The dodecahedron rose from her hands, spinning of its own accord. Rays of grey light spilled from it, turning to silver as they fell onto darkness. The silver stretched into infinitesimally fine threads, that wound and twisted among themselves, drifting gently to form a fine weave. These threads gathered around the child, attaching themselves to the frayed ends of older threads, forming complex links. The vast emptiness before him was now covered in the same fine silver web that clustered around Jester. She stared, eyes wide. The broken timeline was hopefully mended. Jester looked at the child in triumph. He stared at the repaired weave blankly, and did not move.   
  
"Your offer is accepted. Come, child."  
  
The Raven Queen approached the child, hands reaching out towards him. Jester reflexively tried to hide him behind her, but the mask turned towards her, and she could not feel any ill-will from her. A beat passed. Then Jester nodded, and stepped aside. The Raven Queen's hands grasped the child's arms, and pulled. With the movement of her hands, the figure of an older man with the same hair and grim blue eyes stepped forth from the body of the child. The older man turned to regard the child expressionlessly. The child now stood limply, as if held up by invisible strings. The man did not look towards her, but she felt her heart soar with joy and relief at the sight. He was known to her now. The vanishing body in the room on Rumblecusp. Her forgotten companion. Her ally, friend, found family.   
  
Caleb.  
  
Eyes shining, Jester stepped towards him. Tentatively, she reached out and tried to touch his hand. At her touch, he pulled his hand away, and took two steps forward. She recoiled a little in surprise.   
  
"I will return these souls to where they belong." the Raven Queen spoke again. Amusement tinged her voice, with faint regret. "Take him and return if you can, chosen of the Trickster. I have opened the way for you. We will meet again."  
  
The porcelain mask faded into the ether, as did the bodies of Bren and his parents. 

She was left alone, looking at the man who continued to face away from her. 


	9. Tell me you love me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *** content warning: implied suicidal ideation, consistent with what was mentioned in episode 46 of Talks Machina (Discussing Campaign 2 So Far). ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I place my heart in your hands  
> do with it what you will

Jester put her hand in her pocket and retrieved the item the Traveler had gifted her. It was a small, forked, metal rod. She smiled, knowing what it was.

"Caleb, I can get us home." she said over the space between them.  
  
He stood only two feet away, but an impossible distance lay between them. The same sense of distance he’d always put between them from the first day they met.

No response.  
  
He continued facing away from her. A tiny pinprick of fear stabbed into her heart. The adrenaline rush and exhilaration of successfully bargaining with the goddess of fate drained from her body. Now she only felt tired, oh so tired.

"Caleb? Can you look at me?"

He did not move or say a word. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but his back looked so fragile it felt like he might break if she did.

"Don't be weird Caleb, please don't be weird." she said rather despairingly. "I came to get you back."

Silence.

"I forgot who you were, you know. I remember now." Jester continued to talk at his unmoving back. "I have all my memories of you back now. I'm glad I remember. I hated forgetting. I didn't remember what I'd forgotten, but I hated it." She clenched her fists helplessly, nails digging into her palms.

"You said that if changing a memory could make a person happier, it was a good thing. But it wasn't a good thing, Caleb. I don't want to have my memories changed. I'm really angry at you now. Do you know? I'm mad at you, Caleb!" Hot tears ran down her cheeks.

Caleb's fingers tightened their grip on his elbows, knuckles completely white.

"You have every right to be. I'm sorry." His voice came in a broken whisper. "I never want to cause you pain. You would have been happier if you never met me."

She laughed a little hysterically as she replied.

"Maybe so."

That won a tiny surprised chuckle from him.

"But I did meet you."

She reached across the space between them again and her fingers grasped his sleeve. This time he did not pull away.

"And Caleb, I'm really glad I met you. It was really a good thing. Totally worth it." She took a breath and continued.

"Everything was worth it. Including you being weird now and not looking at me. And making us all forget you. It was all worth it. I don't have to be happy all the time, Caleb. And you helped me to realise that.”

“I didn’t do anything.” he said dully.

“You did a lot! You always listened. You asked me what I wanted, what I was thinking. And you were so hard to read I couldn’t just say what I thought you wanted me to say. I had to actually say what I thought.”

He shrugged a little.

“That was really important to me, Caleb. Thank you.”  
  
“No.”  
  
His voice dropped and took on that edge she’d only heard when he had spoken to the scourger in the cell. She hadn’t been scared then, but with that voice directed at her now, it was chilling.

“You don’t understand.”  
  
“What -“

“You don’t know what I did.”  
  
“I -“  
  
“Jester, I murdered my parents. I killed my own parents in cold blood!”  
  
She inhaled sharply and released his sleeve, both hands covering her mouth.

“This was the only chance I had to make things right.” Steely anger poured through his words, unrelenting. “And it’s gone. I fucked it up again. It’s too late for me now. For everything. There’s nothing left.”  
  
It was so quiet she could hear her heart pounding. She grasped for words and found none.  
  
At her silence, Caleb breathed deeply and released his grip on his own elbows, straightening his posture. He turned to face her at last, and though there were tears in his eyes, he was smiling. When he spoke again there was a new gentleness in his voice.

“Now you understand. Leave me here. Go home. I’m sorry you ended up coming all the way here for someone like m- oof!” the breath was knocked out of his lungs as a bundle of well-built tiefling crashed into him like a bullet and tackled him in a grapple. Jester wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug, her grip vice-like.

“I’m sorry Caleb, I’m so sorry.” she said into the front of his clothes.

His voice came out in a strained whisper.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I never knew. I never asked. We all knew it was hard for you but I never knew how hard. And you always looked so sad, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. And you had to keep it a secret because you thought we’d leave you alone.”

“That was not the reason.” She felt him exhale.

“I did not tell you that I was a murderer because. Because…” he trailed off, forming the words for his thoughts.

“At first, I thought you would all turn on me. And I would have to leave. But time passed, and I got to know you all. Anyway, I was not afraid of that anymore.”

“You’re not alone anymore. You’ll never be alone again. We won’t leave you alone.” she said determinedly into his shirt. She felt more tears run down her own face.

“You should.” He spoke so softly she nearly missed it, even in the still quiet.

“No.” She shook her head fiercely.

She cast about for the right words to say, words she had always been looking for, was still searching for. Anything to say to bring him out of his sadness. She had been able to persuade even the Raven Queen, how could she fail to persuade her friend? What would Caduceus say? He always had words of wisdom to share. What would Beau say? She always seemed able to get an emotional response out of Caleb. What would Veth say? She had always understood. 

Nothing came to mind.

Her friends were not here to speak, and she could only rely on herself. 

“Those two people just now, were they your parents?”

“…yeah.”

“Una and Leofric. I remember. You said their names on the island. They look really nice.”

“They were wonderful.”

“Your mum is very beautiful. And your dad is very handsome.”

His ribs shook slightly. She could not tell if he laughed or sobbed.

“I think they would be happy that you tried to save them."

A soft despairing laugh.

“I killed them. I set them on fire. And I chose to do it of -”

“And they would want you to live.” she talked over him quickly.

“Jester.” The chill in his voice cut straight to the heart. “What would you do if someone killed your mother?”

The answer was immediate, obvious. She could never forgive anyone who did anything to her mother.

He spoke again, still ice-cold.  
  
“What if that person was you? Could you live with yourself if you killed your mother?”

His words cut deeply. She couldn’t even imagine it. She could never do it. She would never do such a thing, never have done it. It was impossible. She felt reflexively hurt that he would even ask that question of her. But she had not lived Caleb’s life.

Since she left her little ruby prison she had seen so much. The world beyond her window was both more beautiful and terrible than anything she had ever known or imagined. Her friends had lived troubled pasts, one and all. Experienced pain she could never have imagined suffering. Even herself, singing desperately through the gag at the Sour Nest. She’d thought back then she was really going to lose her mind. A few more days of that. A few more weeks. Who knew what she might have done to free herself? The helplessness and fear of abandonment still coloured her dreams.   
  
She would never have killed her mother. It was not possible to truly know how she would react to doing the unthinkable. But the simplest answer was that she would hate herself. It would be difficult to live with the horror of her own actions.

Her fingers dug into the back of his shirt.

“I don’t know.” she said slowly. “That's not a fair question.’

“I’m sorry.” he said simply.

A indeterminate amount of time passed, her arms were beginning to numb from their grip on Caleb.

“Caleb, is that what you want? Do you want to stay here? Do you want me to leave you here?”

“It is what I deserve.”

She let go of him now, and took a step back, looking up to meet his eyes. They looked haggard, tired, and dull.

“Is it what you want?”

He closed his eyes and nodded.

She let silence hang between them for a long while.

Waiting.

He opened his eyes again.

A flash of surprise crossed his face before it became carefully expressionless again. He had expected her to be gone. She held his gaze and spoke matter-of-factly, like she was listing points of order.

“There’s a lot of stuff you still want to do right? We still have to find and kill Trent Icky Thong.”

A flicker of emotion touched his eyes before vanishing.

“You wanted to make sure no other students go through what you went through. We can still do that.”

Another flicker of life touched his eyes.

“There are a lot of books you haven’t read. And now that the timeline’s repaired everyone will remember you. Beau’s going to miss having another human around. Veth will be upset if I don’t bring you back. Essek would miss having you to be nerdy with over book stuff.” As she spoke, the deluge of words spilling forth without considered thought, the expression on his face softened fractionally. He looked to her like a man teetering on the edge of a cliff. 

“And I would really really miss you.”

His face crumpled into a grimace, and he dropped to his heels, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. Tears fell freely, twinkling in the eerie silver glow of a million threads around them before vanishing into the ether.

Jester stood quietly, waiting. She was so afraid of saying anything, doing something wrong. She was only sure of one thing.

“You know, there’s no way I’m going back without you.”

His head snapped up at that. There was something horribly comical in that tragic posture and tear-streaked face. She probably looked not much better.  
  
Jester extended a hand towards him, an echo of the day they met. She had extended a hand and he had refused to shake it. She stamped down the fear in her heart and smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. 

His gaze was steadfast. At some point in the months they'd travelled together, he'd stopped avoiding eye contact with her.

“Just like that?”

“If you need someone to punish you, Caleb, someone at the Lavish Chateau can do that for you.” she said somewhat tartly.

He laughed at that, a little hysterically, but lacking the bitterness that had flavoured all his words. She felt herself smile with sudden relief. He laughed, and laughed, the sound of his laughter swallowed by the black space around them.

Caleb wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and grasped her hand firmly.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”  
  
“Yeah. Let’s go home.” said Caleb, expression unreadable.

Hurriedly, before he could change his mind, she covered his hand with her free hand, metal fork in palm. Beaming at Caleb, she drew on the source of her divine energy and called out.

" _Traveler! Please bring us home!_ "  
  
Through the darkness, a pair of hands in long green sleeves stretched out and clasped both her hands and Caleb's.  
  
" _A_ _brilliant show my dear, now the players must give their bow._ "   
  
Jester squeezed her eyes shut, holding on tightly to his hands. The air around seemed to press inwards with an uncomfortable pressure, she felt the ground fall away. Then the world seemed to right itself. The air was normal. The ground was solid beneath her feet. And the hands she held were still within her grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This was a very difficult chapter to write, and even as I post it I am painfully aware of its imperfections. 
> 
> Everyone's experiences are their own and unique and the mental processes that the characters in this story went through and their subsequent choices is not intended to be a reflection of anyone that might be going through something similar in real life.
> 
> I just want to emphasize here that Caleb’s emotional journey is a complex one, and though every step he makes is significant, there is no single conversation or action that magically resolves that internal conflict. I really want to respect both his effort and also the difficulty inherent in coming to terms with himself. If I have failed to do so, I apologise to both any readers of this story, and to Caleb.
> 
> Today in this story he chose to take the hand that was held out to him. And I only pray that he will continue to make that choice to hold on to the hands of his loved ones, and that they will continue to be there for him. 
> 
> The rest of his journey cannot be contained within a single story.
> 
> 2\. Where Jester's speech is italicized, she is speaking in Infernal. As there is no reference in canon for the verbal and somatic components for Plane Shift, I simply imagine it for Jester as requesting it.
> 
> 3\. I know Artagan 'hates' theatre but that archfey is a walking thespian.


	10. It's Okay, It's Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> though I leave you now  
> from the mountain pine trees grow  
> if I should hear you pine for me  
> at once I will come home

He stared unblinking as they were whisked through the vacuum of space and time. This time, the trip was not a painful one. He kept his eyes fixed on the blue hands clasping his own till the darkness brightened into warm sunlight.

Bright sun shone on the skin of his arms, highlighting fine white scars. A reminder of his eternal failure. His eyes trailed upwards to Jester’s face. She had her eyes scrunched shut adorably. This was the person he had placed his faith in. With nothing but her words, he had chosen to gamble on life once again.

She opened first one eye, then the next, blinking hard in the strong light. Her eyes caught his and she grinned brightly before her smile faltered a little. The colour in her cheeks deepened. He felt his hands fall as she released them and looked away.

“Where are we?” he asked hoarsely.

“This is the Xhorhaus.” she replied lightly.

Caleb looked around them both. It was indeed the rooftop garden of the Xhorhaus, with its unnaturally tall tree, and the shrines to their various deities. He had not thought to see this place again.

“It’s too bright for Rosohna.”

They looked up, shielding their eyes with their hands. For the first time since they arrived in the city, the cover of perpetual night was lifted. The sun burned almost directly overhead. The light fell as warmly as it had done in Blumenthal. When they looked down, they could see their neighbours’ houses, and the spires of the Marble Tomes Conservatory.

“Wow.”  
  
“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, continuing to look away.

A pause.

“It is hard to know where to begin.”  
  
“Maybe later then?”

“Yeah.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
A stiff breeze blew her hair across her face as she bowed her head, obscuring her expression. She rummaged to retrieve something from her pocket and held it out to him. A faintly ringed fist-sized rock with a slanted smiley face painted on it. His transmuter’s stone.

“Thank you.”

She shrugged.  
  
“For everything.”

“Don’t do it again.” she said severely.

“I won’t.” he said with certainty.

She smiled at that, more radiant than the sun.

_It’s too late for me._

“Because if you do, I’ll just bring you back again.”

“I -“ he began, but was interrupted by a flurry of voices from belowstairs.

“I hear them on the roof.” came Caduceus’ calm agitated tones.  
  
“I’m on it!” Beauregard yelled.

“Me too!”

The pounding of footsteps followed, and Beauregard, followed by the rest of the Nein burst out onto the rooftop.  
  
“Hey Caleb! Hold on to your own things.”  
  
On seeing him, Beauregard immediately flung an object towards him. His hand came up reflexively and plucked it out of midair. He looked at his hand and saw his driftglobe.

“Oh. Thanks.” was all he had time to get out before a halfling barrelled into him.

“You were gone! Did you leave without me? Are you planning on leaving the Mighty Nein?” Veth clutched him tightly. “Why did you leave all your important things behind?”

He looked over at Jester. She smiled wryly back at him with a ‘you made this happen now deal with it’ shrug of her shoulders.

“I did leave.”

Caleb looked around at the faces of the Mighty Nein. The tension and anxiety emanating from them palpable. Fjord, arms folded. Yasha, looking anxious and worried. Caduceus, ever serene but frowning. Beauregard, attempting to look angry but with hurt shining from her eyes. Veth, face buried into his shirt.

“I did plan on leaving. I was not going to come back. But I changed my mind. I will stay, for as long as you will have me.”

Fjord was the first to respond. He walked up to him and pulled him into a hug, painfully tight. Veth’s arms were squished between them.

“You will always have a place with us, Caleb.”

Caleb blinked, and a couple of fresh tears dropped from his eyes.

"Always." Caduceus agreed and put his arms around the three of them.

Yasha nodded and did the same. Jester joined the group hug and looked back at Beauregard impishly.

“This isn’t over, Caleb.” Beauregard said unconvincingly and put her arms around Jester and Yasha as far as they could go. The tips of her fingers touched Fjord and Caleb’s shoulders. “I’m glad you came back.”

Caleb took a breath and said in his best deadpan manner.

“Would you call this a Caleb-Fjord hot pocket?”

~ _fin~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have read this story to the end I am very very grateful. 
> 
> Thank you so much for giving this story a chance and your time of day! 
> 
> This story is my love song to Jester and to Caleb. In as much as these characters laugh, they hurt. They aren’t all good or all bad, they’re multi-faceted people. They live and burn on the screen, imagination brought to life by the love and commitment of their creators and actors. More than finding a romantic happily ever after, my wish for these characters was to find the confidence to ‘drink deep of life’ with all its rainbow joys and sorrows. I love that they are independent of each other, yet important to each other. I love how fiercely they care, how possessive they are of their friends.  
> It is my deepest hope that this story did them justice.
> 
> Though this story is by no means perfect, I'm really glad that I wrote it, and happy that it looks like some readers enjoyed it! I hope that the story progression and its ending did not let down any expectations you may have had. 
> 
> If you have any thoughts or questions on anything that happened, I would love to hear about them!
> 
> I will be posting another chapter which will just be my notes on character outlines, discarded plot points, and the reason behind the selection of chapter titles (they're almost all from the official character playlists!) and plot points that were not explained in detail within the story. If you have any interest into the background work that went into writing this story please check it out! Otherwise thank you again for reading!


	11. behind the pages

**About Burn that Page**

The story title was pulled from the song Star Sky by Two Steps from Hell. The specific lyrics which sum up Caleb’s feelings in this story are:  
  
Burn that page for me  
I cannot embrace the touch that you give  
I cannot be loved so set me free  
I cannot deliver you your love or caress your soul

The ‘page’ of a future together with his new found family is one that he thinks he cannot ‘turn’, so instead he burns.

This was meant to be a very short and straightforward story. I was not confident of having the attention span to finish writing it otherwise. As far as possible I wanted to avoid lengthy explanations that would disrupt the flow of the story. Consequently there were several vague points that were never elaborated on within the story. I have tried to note them down here instead. My apologies, this will not be neat or tidy, as I am incapable of being orderly. I’m honestly not sure how much sense this will make. 

This section is a rather jumbled exposition of the story planning process, including references and inspiration from other works. As such it may include spoilers from these works:

Fire and Hemlock - novel by Diana Wynne Jones, and her Chrestomanci series (for her interpretation of the multiple worlds theory)  
Ballad of Tam Lin  
Dragon Age video game series  
Chihayafuru series - Suetsugu Yuki  
Resident Evil 2 (remake)  
Narrative Telephone stories + all of main campaign 1 and 2

I played fast and loose with scientific and new age concepts such as quantum physics and the Akashic Records. Nothing was intended to make factual sense but attempts were made at making the theories consistent.

These notes will be loosely organised into four parts, 1. the things implied but not elaborated on within the story + chapter title naming and poem quotation, 2. the ‘logistics’ or mechanics involved + parameters for the initial setting, 3. the building of character relationships and growth journeys, and 4. miscellaneous notes.

**1\. Things implied/not explained outright**

\- Caleb had run several ‘test runs’ going back in time a single day, resulting in Jester’s sense of déjà vu in chapter 1.  
\- The Nein could definitely tell that Jester was not acting normally, but decided to give her the time and space to work it out and trust her to talk to them when she was ready.  
\- The golden-haired elf was the personification of the Archeart.  
\- The man in brown leather armour, the raven, and the man in black armour were all Vax’ildan.  
\- Jester is Fate-Touched, this is why she remembers the erased timeline and she used a Luck point to reroll her persuasion check against the Raven Queen in chapter 8.  
\- The threads of fate converge and pull around a person who is Fate-Touched. This gives them an inherent connection to DnD’s version of the Akashic Records, and this is how a person divines using tarot cards (which Jester does in this story).  
\- Caleb’s body, his completed spell notes and evidence of the magic circle on Rumblecusp were erased by the Raven Queen’s influence - a stopgap measure to prevent time from unraveling further until a long-term intervention could be completed.  
\- The Traveler can enter the Raven Queen’s realm i.e. is not blocked from it (theory on this to be explained further down)  
\- Astrid paid Brother Ludolf an offering to Pelor in exchange for the Chantry’s continued care of Caleb’s father while Caleb was inside the treatment room. Caleb and Una knew without her saying. Caleb could not have stayed at the Chantry with Una and Leofric without increasing the gold offered and that is why he had to return instead of watching over his father.  
\- Blumentrio are not in romantic relationships at this point in their lives. I imagine falling in love happened later on while they were at the Soltryce Academy.  
\- Everything that happened to Bren from the moment he returned to his childhood was caused by the Raven Queen nudging events towards certain directions e.g. Liesel happening to use Detect Magic to scan the crowd just as Caleb arrived at the harvest feast.  
\- The spells in Caleb’s grandmother’s spellbook were his 3 beginning cantrips and 3 level 1 spells.  
\- Time and space are mutable in the realm of the Raven Queen. Events that have already occurred, are yet to occur, are currently occurring can be accessed. This is why Vax refers to Una and Leofric’s souls as being with the Dawnfather in the present/past tense though in Bren’s timeline they seem to be alive and well.  
\- Technically Bren’s actions should have incurred the Dawnfather’s wrath for stealing two souls from his purview, however as the mechanism by which he did it fell under the Raven Queen’s domain, it fell to her to correct it. Should she not have intervened, it would have soured the relationship between the two gods, and the Dawnfather would have stopped/punished Caleb anyway.  
\- The weaves of destiny are created by narrative potential. The RQ harvests this from souls at the point of transition before she guides them to the realms of their deities.  
\- Jester, Scanlan and Caleb’s Narrative Telephone stories were referenced in chapter 5 (Astrid mentions the prizes Paulet won + the magical plum. The three children walk into the darkness holding hands, counting their steps.) The story that Eodwulf tells of the forest witch in chapter 7 is the tale of the Waldhexe.  
\- The hot pocket joke is a callback to Episode 73, the ‘book-boy’ jibe was used by Matt when Liam taunted him over ‘auditors’.

 **Magic used by characters within the story**  
Jester: Word of Recall, Commune, Divine Intervention (asking the Traveller to plane shift her to the Raven Queen’s domain), Guidance, Calm Emotions, Plane Shift  
Caleb: Unnamed time-travel magic ritual, Dancing Lights, Disguise Self, Suggestion  
Liesel: Detect Magic, Seeming  
Astrid: Mending  
Eodwulf: Prestidigitation  
Vax’ildan: Druidcraft, Wild Shape + unnamed magical stuff that allows the souls of the RQ’s champions to travel between space and time

Where possible I tried to pull descriptions as given by their actors or Matt. Occasionally the components and somatic actions used vary in-game, and in those cases I picked the less flashy option. In one of the instances Caleb casts Suggestion in-game, Liam describes it as running honey across his lip, but the components required actually specify a bit of honeycomb or sweet oil. To reduce confusion for myself, I gave Caleb his grandmother’s component pouch in an earlier chapter so he would have the snake’s tongue and sweet oil required. The action Jester uses to cast Commune was inspired by the Ballad of Tam Lin, where Janet must ‘cast her compass round’ in holy water to protect herself from fey magic.

**Spells Caleb had prepared before going back in time (most of which he never used)**

-fortune’s favor  
-web of fire  
-fireball  
-fly  
-invisbility  
-polymorph  
-disguise self  
-wall of fire  
-resonant echo  
-disintegrate  
-counterspell  
-detect magic  
-identify  
-sleep  
-knock  
-suggestion

  
**Leaving items behind to members of the Nein**

Transmuter’s stone set to fire resistance + Spellbook -> Placed in Jester’s haversack  
Jar of beads of nourishment - Placed with Caduceus’ belongings  
Frumpkin - Instructed to stay with Beauregard  
Driftglobe - Placed with Beauregard’s belongings  
Amber beads necklace + Amulet of Proof against Detection - Gifted ‘temporarily’ to Fjord  
Ring of Evasion - ‘Loaned’ to Yasha  
Any gold or other trinkets he was carrying were placed with Veth for ‘safekeeping’

**1.5 Chapter titles and notes**

**Jester’s POV chapters**

**1\. I’m nightmares underneath, it’s useless & 3\. I’m fine, don’t ask**  
Jester’s first two POV chapter titles were pulled from her playlist song The New Great Depression. This was the song Laura selected to underline Jester’s habit of hiding her emotions. In these two chapters, Jester is anxious about something she cannot identify. She feels that something is wrong but no one else seems to think so. She doesn’t wish to worry the people around her, or impose on anyone and ends up making only half-hearted attempts to pursue the truth. Twice she fails to follow through to the end and turns her back on her own feelings.

The notes I wrote for chapter 3, ‘drop your mask of sadness we're standing in the sun’ is a reference to Caleb’s parallel nature and also her own hypocrisy. Caleb wears a mask of sadness to insulate himself from the world and anyone can see that, Jester included. But Jester is wearing a mask too, a mask of joy to hide her sadness and melancholy. The mask is no lie, a piece of her true self that she wears on the outside. But a mask it is.

 **6\. I’ll follow the sun**  
This song underlines Jester’s determination to remain positive. I see it also as her willingness to continue down paths that seem dangerous or shrouded in the unknown in the search for her true happiness. Like the Fool in the major arcana, she is willing to walk forward unseeing even if it may mean she falls off a cliff.

The chapter quotation is by Eliot, but was also used in Fire and Hemlock.  
‘Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind  
Cannot bear very much reality’

There are several plausible interpretations to the quote. In this chapter, it describes the feeling of when something just can’t be real, because it’s too impossible, but on a primal, instinctual level, you know in your gut it is real. One wishes to deny it, the existence of fairy tales and magic, and forgotten memories of a close ally. Blatantly irrational things can’t possibly happen in this day and age, except they can and they do.

In this chapter Jester faces her final and strongest temptation to ignore her intuition and misgivings. She grapples with the desire to reason everything away with common sense. But in the end she embraces her spirit of the Fool and leaps over the cliff.

 **8\. Put the fire out**  
This is Jester’s character song for Caleb. It represents her wish to help him but as Laura notes - she doesn’t know how.

In this chapter, Jester pulls off a miracle. She travels across space and time. She bends fate and comes out victorious in a bargain with the Raven Queen. She has preserved Caleb’s soul from being burnt to restore the timeline, but if he is unwilling to return, she cannot Plane Shift both of them back home.

 **9\. Tell me you love me**  
This chapter title is taken from a direction given to the voice actors of Leon and Ada in Resident Evil 2 (remake). The words ‘tell me you love me’ are never spoken in-game, but they say it between each line of their dialogue in their final confrontation scene. This chapter is about what is unspoken.

This is the first chapter that Jester and Caleb can face each other with honesty. Though it is told from Jester’s POV, the emotional journey here belongs to both of them.

I think much of Jester and Caleb’s relationship is about the things that remain unspoken between them. A strange tacit understanding. There’s always an interesting duality to Caleb's and to some extent, Jester’s dialogue. There’s the literal content of the words they say. There’s the inflection and expression they say the words with. And there’s what they can’t say but they’re thinking so hard it can’t help but permeate their voice. Under their words and interactions underlies a subtext of trust and love. What kind of love this is at present is yet to be defined, but love there is.

There are questions they wish to ask of each other. Reassurances they wish to give to each other. But they can’t ask, and can’t comfort the other effectively because the superficial context of their relationship has not kept pace with the depth of their feelings. Words are not adequate to express how they feel.

But trust there is. Caleb’s heart was lost to Jester long ago. So when she asks it of him, he places himself, and his future in her hands.

  
**Caleb’s POV chapters**

Caleb’s POV titles were mostly left uncapitalized to reflect his perpetual sense of not being in control of the situation/stress and anxiety. It was also to underline a certain disconnection to reality. Liam has described Caleb’s perspective as seeing things through a glass. Even though Caleb’s body is present, sensing the sights and sounds and smells of life, he is not perceiving it fully.

 **2\. we, beloved of the springtime & 4\. haunted by the light**  
The Harrowed and the Haunted is Caleb’s song for everything he cannot let go of in his past. The pains and joys that defined his formative years. In these two chapters he experiences once again the lost innocence of his youth, sees his friends untouched by the cruelty of the Academy. When everything was bright, when he was beloved.  
But even the joy is laced with poison to his soul. He is haunted by the light just as surely, as by the darkness of his past.

 **5\. my heart will stop if I put out the fire**  
Fire is the song that underlines why Caleb cannot let go of his ultimate goals. He doesn’t believe he can find redemption, he can only undo what came before. What is physically impossible is more likely than what is emotionally impossible to achieve. His commitment to achieving the impossible is all that fuels his will to live.

In chapter 5, Bren begins to doubt. His plan is spiralling out of control, suddenly more plates were added to the dozen he was already juggling. He has no allies to tap on, no resources to draw from.

 **7\. take it from the weakest soul**  
This is from Vax’s post-campaign playlist, the song that represents the person he became after death. I think that this is the point where Vax and Caleb’s personalities intersect. They are fundamentally very different characters, but they share the same struggle with despair and the futility of inevitability. It also reflects their inherent low sense of self and willingness to shoulder the entire burden of unfortunate events.

In chapter 7, the plates Bren has been juggling have crashed, and he is laser-focused on the clean-up. There is no one to hear his cries, not even himself. With each step, he crushes the sound of his own heart and replaces emotion with resolve.

 **10\. It’s Okay, It’s Alright**  
This song represents Liam’s compassion towards Caleb.  
The possibility of hope for the damned.  
Peace for the wretched.  
In this chapter, Caleb opens up to the idea of a future outside his long-held plan of rewriting the past.

The chapter poem is my wildly edited translation of an original poem by Ariwara no Yukihira, a Japanese poem from the Hyakunin Isshu anthology. For a translation that is more accurate to the original meaning, do check out [onethousandsummer’s page](https://onethousandsummers.blogspot.com/2012/07/hyakunin-isshu-poem-16-ariwara-no.html?m=0)! This poem is also the poem that represents the character Taichi from the karuta manga series Chihayafuru. Similarly to Caleb, Taichi spent a long while denying his romantic feelings, and in a single moment, realised it was too late. Love had caught him even though he shielded himself from it.

In this chapter Caleb thinks ‘it’s too late for me’. Being too late is a theme for Caleb’s feelings towards Jester. As he said to Yasha it is too late for him to say anything to Jester about his feelings, and the reason for this is that he proved himself irredeemable before he ever met her.

But it is also too late for him to stop his feelings. In as much as he tried to raise emotional walls between himself and his new colleagues, he blinked one day and realised he was in love.

The boy who had his heart eaten by the forest witch.

The poem describes the truth of Caleb’s feelings. Even if he runs away from her and departs for mountains far, should he hear that she misses him, he will have no choice but to return to her.

**2\. Setting and parameters**

Burn that Page was initially planned to be 6 chapters, but as the story developed I realised there were stumbling blocks to be overcome before the story could resolve itself, and the story was expanded to its final 10 chapters. I started with the simple idea of 'what would happen if Caleb found the means to go back in time?' but before I could begin writing, I had to think about the in-game/Exandrian mechanics that might allow this to happen. It was less important for details to be correct than to present a consistent narrative so eventually none of this is probably canon-compliant and most definitely not real-world physics-compliant.

**The magical physics of time-travel**

In a world where magic exists, the rules of quantum physics as real-world physicists understand are a mere after-thought. Initially I thought that Caleb might have found notes on the time travel left behind by the only mage suspected to have succeeded in his time travel attempt. This is the mage from Aeor, the ruins of which became the land now known as Eiselcross. With the wandering multi-planar nature of Rumblecusp and its suspected morkoth overlord, it became vaguely possible through a stretch for ancient magical artefacts to be planted within its lair and accessible to Caleb for the story’s purposes.

Dunamancy as described thus far appears to be a play on the multiple-world theory. As I am no physicist, I pull my understanding of these theories from fiction. In DWJ’s Chrestomanci series, ‘alternate worlds’ are formed when a single event that can take path A or B occurs. The single world splits into two, world A being the one where the event happened one way, world B where the event happened a different way. Each world then proceeds on its own path oblivious of the other.

This however is not how dunamancers, or at least Essek understands it. The ‘Resonant Echo’ spell description refers to ‘unused branching timelines’ where the timelines are those that the main campaign is not living in. This concept indicates to me that either 1. The branching timelines are not ‘alive’ i.e. independently charting their own course through quantum history, or 2. Dunamancers do not care about the rights of any timeline that is not their own. It is clear however that they are cutting and incising bits and pieces from neighbouring timelines. What happens to the gaps that form as they pluck these ‘echoes’ from the branches? I imagine it like a broken piece of DNA, repairing itself by binding to matching nucleotides.  
The theory I went with for Burn that Page plays on the Raven Queen’s realm as it appeared to Vax in campaign 1, as well as what the characters from campaign 2 visualized when they did their ‘deep dives’ into the dodecahedrons. The premise I am using assumes

\- The main ‘timeline’ is the one chosen by the narrative i.e. that the players in canon shape with their actions.  
\- Secondary branching timelines are formed by the actions not taken but end up existing and branching independently and infinitely.  
\- Timelines are self-repairing where small breaks occur. This reparation involves the ‘copying’ of neighbouring timelines using the alternative paths that can maintain the same outcomes where possible to preserve the stability of the narrative. For example, should the timelines where Caleb turned Veth back into a halfling be unraveled, the timeline would copy a branch from the closest possible timeline where Veth was still turned back into a halfling. In Burn that Page, this was an alternate timeline where Essek was the one who had completed the spell.  
\- Where significant damage that cannot be self-repaired occurs to the timelines, the Raven Queen intervenes.

**How Caleb went back in time in this story**

He found the dodecahedron in the Morkoth’s lair and had an epiphany that linked back to something he had seen in Halas’ notes.

Using the dodecahedron as both anchor and arcane battery, residuum as a conduit, his own blood as a guiding element (to restrict the effects of the magic to his own timeline and potential timelines), he burnt his past 18 years and neighbouring alternate timelines where he existed out of existence. Had he not done this, the main narrative timeline would have repaired itself with a branching timeline where Caleb had still existed. The only way to make sure the past could be rewritten with a clean slate was to remove his alternate selves as well. This also had the effect of removing his existence from the memories of anyone who had met him in the 18 years, which was a caveat I think he needed to justify it to himself i.e. doing this will not hurt any of the Nein because they won't even remember me, and the instances in which I helped or saved them would still occur only by different means.

Events that would be affected by his absence would begin to knit themselves together, taking ‘spare pieces’ from ‘unused alternate timelines’ like the Dissonant Echo spell, or like a piece of DNA being repaired. These ‘repaired’ events would be further ‘repaired’ or altered as time passed to create consistency along the new weave of history. The Nein in the present-day had slightly altered memories of events that Caleb was strongly involved in, but the events themselves had not changed significantly yet. ‘Gaps’ in everyone’s memories would either be filled in by their own brains making things up based on logical connections, or they would simply gloss over them and not think too hard about it. Instinctively, they would get a feeling that ‘I probably don’t want to think about it, thinking will hurt, thinking might make bad things happen’.

Had the RQ or another god not stepped in to stop Caleb from interfering with his past and thus destabilizing the entire 18 year stretch of narrative time, some key events that Caleb participated in could have become undone eventually depending on how much he decided to diverge from the original sequence of events i.e. Veth’s transformation, Mighty Nein alliance with Xhorhas. However, the entire time-travel journey happened over the span of 3 days, which was enough time for the RQ to send her first warning, her second warning, and maneuver events in her favour. Had Caleb agreed to give up his soul to repair the timeline, fidelity to the original sequence of events could have been protected. Caleb’s body vanished because it was kept by the Raven Queen. His dead body would simply have been found in the room on Rumblecusp. He would have no afterlife, his soul having been burnt to fuel the mending. This would have happened had Jester decided being safe and happy was more important than tracing her forgotten memories.

The nature of the dodecahedron has been somewhat vague in canon, but in this story I am working on the assumption that it is a source of dunamantic power so strong that fate-lines are drawn to converge upon it. It also serves as an anchor or spiritual lamp-post, which allows consecuted souls to be drawn back towards it, hiding souls from the eyes of the Raven Queen and her psychopomps.

**The definition of godhood + The Raven Queen and Artagan’s relationship and status on the pantheon of Exandria**

In Exandria, entities that are not strictly classified as ‘true gods’ may still grant clerics their powers. What then makes a god true? I used a theory adapted from the Dragon Age game series to settle on how godhood works within this story setting. This was necessary to decide how the Raven Queen and Artagan would behave and react to Caleb and Jester’s respective actions.

Faith lends power to entities of worship, but also shapes and binds them. Faith transmutes the very nature of a worshipped entity, to become closer to what the worshipper believes the being is like. The less of a ‘true’ god, the less mutable. I think the boundary of when a being becomes a true god within this setting is when the entity cannot be truly killed because faith will bring them back. This was also hinted at during the final battle with Vecna. Should anyone kill the Raven Queen, the collective faith of her worshippers will ensure that something like her persists in the world, grows, and one day returns to fulfill the same function. Artagan is not a true god, so if he is killed, he may not be resurrected in the same fashion.

The Raven Queen and Artagan have several points in common within canon. Both are liminal beings. Both are on not strictly positive terms with the rest of the Prime Deities due to their natures. And the Raven Queen retains elements of mortality. There is the shared idea of being between boundaries or thresholds for both entities. The Raven Queen’s domain technically stretches to every death, yet she oversees only the moment of transition. The rest of the journey is not entrusted to her. She has no true allies amongst the Prime Deities nor the Betrayer Gods. The Traveler is similarly not aligned to Seelie nor Unseelie Courts. As a trickster god, he crosses boundaries, and visits and dwells in any place freely.

Names have power, true names, given names, and what people believe you are. The Traveler was a name Artagan gave himself, and the Raven Queen calls him the Trickster, because it is what he represents to her. He is definitely known to her, and recognises him as a being of the in-between just as she is. Though Artagan’s original nature was fey, that fey nature has become mutable due to his transition in-progress towards godhood. It is for these reasons that I thought it made sense for Artagan to be able to trespass upon the Raven Queen’s realm with an effort. He knew however that it could be seen as an incursion and once within her domain, she would certainly have the power to make things difficult for him.

In this story, Artagan comments ‘she doesn’t like me very much’. I think this would be the case because the Raven Queen is very much a Lawful type and disapproving of chaos for the sake of chaos. I imagine at some point in the past Artagan had already tried to pull a small prank within her domain and been made aware of her displeasure.

**3\. Characters and their in-story relationships**

**Jester & Caleb**  
In a story ostensibly about Caleb’s exploits back in time, we began with a chapter from Jester’s perspective. This was a very conscious decision to emphasize that Jester’s journey in this story is no less important. Though the plot was not set in motion by her, she is experiencing her own journey through the chapters and its final resolution was brought about directly through Jester’s audacity, charm, gumption and sharp intuition. I wanted their relationship to be one of equals. This doesn’t mean that they have to go through the same struggles or the same story progression, but with the exception of chapter 9, Jester’s POV chapters are very much about Jester.

From what we see in canon, Jester is a person who uses a mask of aggressive cheerfulness to hide her sadness. I think as a character she is defined by a sharp and intense loneliness. Even when she is surrounded by people who love her, none of them, from Marion to the Traveler to the Nein truly understand her motivations or who she is as a person. Jester is very keyed in to the emotions of the people around her and her reflexive response is to do what she can to lighten the mood. In her POV chapters I tried to portray her habit of suppressing and denying the existence of her own worries and anxieties, even to herself.

She was given three opportunities to reject the pursuit of an unhappy truth. Twice she turned her back on her own feelings, and on the third epiphany chose to leap into the unknown. Similar in her negotation with the Raven Queen, she was presented with two options, but chose a third path. While she was beloved and always aided by her friends, she is the final architect of her actions. As Caleb noted, Jester is someone who changes people just by being who she is. The device of the dodecahedron as a bargaining chip was used because I didn’t want to introduce that fresh imbalance in their relationship at the end of the story. I wanted this to be a story about both of them helping each other to work through their issues, without the element of one person having to sacrifice something to save the other. In another universe, Jester might have accepted the RQ’s deal. Should that have happened, there would be a lot of guilt and complexity injected into their dynamic.

Caleb as a character is defined by cognitive dissonance. There is a beautiful hypocrisy in his coldly utilitarian thoughts and his sentimental nature. His excellent compartmentalization skills allow him to hold contrasting opinions with equal firmness.

In situations of stress Caleb is extremely task-oriented. Emotional response is for after the stimulus for stress has been resolved. It was never resolved. He was extremely stressed and anxious and in a state of disreality through his time as his younger self. This is why he is not shown to think back on the Nein while he was in Blumenthal. The pace of Caleb’s journey through the story is very different from Jester’s.

It’s very interesting that Jester’s conversations on ethics and morality through the campaign have been with Caleb - what qualifies as murder, when is modify memory evil? Part of Jester’s journey to finding herself has been defining her personal stance on good and evil. Jester’s morality I think aligns closest with Veth where she feels less concerned about general ‘evil’ but strongly concerned about evil directed towards herself or those she loves.

The quality of Jester and Caleb’s interactions are intriguing because they are not each other’s confidante, they are not the closest or even second closest to each other within the group. I’d say Jester thinks of herself as generally ‘closer’ to Beau or Veth or maybe even Fjord. Similarly Caleb relies more consistently on Beau and Veth. That they connect on such a deep level is something of a miracle and I think what draws myself as well as others to their relationship.

They have similar coping mechanisms, only applied differently. Jester wears a smile to hide her sadness, and Caleb wraps himself with sadness to insulate himself from any positive feelings to punish himself. Not the healthiest of coping mechanisms, perhaps, but not everything that is unhealthy is necessarily bad for you. These coping mechanisms allow both of them to function and interact with the world on a basic level.

Caleb and Jester have been pushing each other in interesting directions with regards to morality. Caleb starts off as True Neutral. Her alignment from the start of the campaign is Chaotic Neutral and she parrots the Traveler’s philosophy of balance. There are two key conversations that occur between Jester and Caleb on ethics. The ethics of killing, and the ethics of mind-altering magics. In addition, Caleb has nudged Jester towards introspection, looking at her own motives beyond the impulses of the moment.

In this story, Caleb’s actions push Jester to confront and evaluate her true priorities. In turn, Jester pushes Caleb to give himself a chance. Instead of ending everything, his love for her pushes him to open himself to the possibility of hope.

 **Astrid & Eodwulf**  
The girl who lost one eye, and the boy who lost the ability to think for himself. But there was love, once. Still is. It is clear that Caleb still cares deeply for his friends. For the youths untouched by the poison of the Academy. In Episode 89 we see that Astrid’s house appears small and minimalistic. She dresses simply, her hair is cut short but fashionably. Through the coldness of her logic and sympathy we still hear the warmth and gentleness that once was. Even now, as a scourger, she is not without kindness.  
I imagine that Astrid did not have much autonomy over her fashion or life choices back in the village. But that she loved fun and pranks, as Caleb does. That she wanted more to life than staying in Blumenthal, ‘you always were ambitious’, as Caleb says. Caleb mentions that he fell in love while at the Academy, so while they were in Blumenthal they were not yet romantically involved.

Eodwulf I imagine also as fun loving. He fell harder than Astrid did to Trent’s mental conditioning, and thus appeared more stable in mood and personality. He probably had a simple and straightforward, honest nature. Seeing him in episode 88 reminded me strongly of my own brother. Reliable, loyal, a prankster with a predictable sense of justice. Lacking nuance. I think he was drawn to the bright sparking wit of both Astrid and Bren and admired them while not feeling insecure. Eodwulf was and is a confident and self-assured individual. I think that Eodwulf and Astrid were close childhood friends, and Bren’s outstanding wit and charm attracted them to open their friendship to a third person.

 **Una & Leofric**  
I think of Una as having traits that both Jester and Astrid would possess. Warmth, somewhat short stature. Sense of humour, empathy. While she may have married a soldier of the Empire I actually imagine she was not as fervently patriotic as her son and husband. Leofric was a soldier, and Caleb admired/respected/looked up to his parents. I speculate that Caleb’s strong patriotic rhetoric comes half from his conditioning at the Academy, and half from his father.

 **Liesel Balfager**  
Caleb once mentioned that the Academy looks for ‘diamonds in the rough’ when admitting students to the Academy. Jester is of the impression that you need lots of money to attend. But Caleb grew up poor. I think it is plausible that the Academy offers scholarships to students from the outskirts of the Empire. These students would be indebted to the Academy and bedazzled by the beauty and technology. Scouts would likely be on the lookout for such malleable targets.

Fashionable, charming, and with strong magical ability. I created the character of Liesel to fit the bill of ‘someone who would know how to identify and court the favour of impressionable youths with magical talent’. Liesel does not see herself as evil, though she is aware that those she recruits will be unlikely to experience good endings. Similar to Astrid, she believes that she is working for the greater good of the Empire.

 **Vax’ildan and the Raven Queen**  
Vax'ildan’s defining trait to me has always been his capacity for compassion. For someone that wrapped himself in shadows and danced closely with death, he lived like a burning sun. To me, he was life personified. Part of the tragedy of this character for me was always that he clung to life and joy and chance so tightly, and had to learn to come to terms with darkness, inevitability.

At this point in the story, Vax has spent many years serving as champion and guide to the souls of the dead. I think that Vax’s intense and somewhat foolish compassion is part of what draws the Raven Queen to him and while she would not fully understand it, she would not seek to erase it from him so long as it did not interfere in his work. I envision their relationship as being one where she affords him a high level of autonomy in that he can choose his method of executing her instructions so long as they are carried out. Vax’ildan expresses empathy with Bren, but fulfils his task as instructed. He delivers three warnings in the form of a raven before reclaiming Leofric’s soul for the Raven Queen. I think that Vax holds no resentment towards Artagan for the strangling incident. Just as the Raven Queen allowed Vax to be there with Vox Machina for the final confrontation, Artagan helped them earn a lost day of time, potentially saving Vasselheim. I imagine that he enjoys the chaos Artagan wrecks. In Burn that Page, he gives Artagan the suggestion to offer the dodecahedron to mend the broken weaves of fate and time.

The Raven Queen is unique amongst the gods in Exandria for having once been a mortal woman. She demonstrates both selfishness and empathy, as well as a soft arrogance. She is not all-knowing but certainly does not like to admit as much. I did not describe the Raven Queen’s realm precisely as Vax saw it in campaign 1, though I tried to make it similar. One reason for this is because it makes sense for the RQ control how her realm appears to visitors and change it accordingly.

**The Archeart**

I have been obsessed with Caleb’s connection to this fey deity and the mysterious cleric who healed him ever since he picked up that symbol in the cave of discarded religious paraphenalia.

In this story, the Archeart wandered into the village and was unfairly picked upon by Marcella. I imagine that to reward Una for her kindness, they would later heal Caleb while he was in the Vergessen Sanatorium. They did not intentionally lead Caleb towards Vax’ildan. This was something that would have happened (running into the woods) in the original timeline. Vax’ildan and the forgotten shrine’s presence was something made possible by the Raven Queen’s power.

 **4\. Miscellaneous**  
 **Reading tarot cards + Jester’s art and inspired epiphanies  
  
** Jester does two tarot readings in the story, one conscious, one unconscious. I tried at first to find reference for the Molly's Moonweaver deck online, but quickly discovered they are not based on the usual decks available. Luckily, the messages I wanted to give Jester could in a pinch be delivered through cards already mentioned in canon. The first card she drew, the Eye with the shriveled hand was meant to say imply that on some level she knew what she was searching for, but that knowledge was hidden from her.  
  
Later in her sleep she knocked over the tarot deck and this revealed her own newly designed cards. The Spark & Blaze and the Death & Dawn. Unknown to her, these are reflective of Caleb's current situation. The Spark & Blaze also represents what she has forgotten (Caleb). Even though she is unable to intuit these messages, they still spark inspiration in her to cast Commune with the Traveler.

I think of Jester's art as her subconscious trying to give herself hints and reminders. Jester has a strong affinity for art, and it makes sense that art would be her connection to her hidden memories. The scenes where she draws or is inspired by the tarot cards were inspired by Fire and Hemlock, where Polly has epiphanies through listening to good music, or looking a photograph. Art inspires, and also gives us different perspectives on the same thoughts. 

**Language and speech patterns**  
Both Caleb and Jester’s word choices over the campaign have given me the impression of trending towards formality, with delivery in a casual tone. I considered the inclusion of the ever present ‘ja’ verbal tic but decided to standardize the spelling of everything in english. One reason for this decision was because it is very difficult to convey accents within typed speech and the heaviness of Caleb’s accent varies depending on the intensity of the scene. In particularly serious monologues Caleb’s cadence and rhythm veers closer to Vax’s ‘british’, and in emotional scenes he sounds closer to the ‘american’ accent designated for ‘zemnian’. Without attempting to express the entire accent, it would be a half-hearted caricature if I only added in ‘ja’ as a placeholder. For Jester I tried to use words that were short, direct, concise, yet sounded rambling. Though her word count during the Sending spell is a running gag, Jester is actually quite efficient in her word usage. Jester has a tendency to use more words, and smaller words. She is very expressive in her speech, and the flow of words is more important than sentence crafting. In moments when she is feeling more agitated, her sentences actually get shorter and word choice more incisive.

Caleb has a tendency to stutter that is vastly reduced when using Zemnian. One reason for this is that Zemnian is his first language. Another reason is that he only ever uses Zemnian when he is leaning into his ‘scourger’ skills. A ‘sandcastle’ of charisma he wears as a mask to interact with people he does not trust. Astrid, Vess DeRogna, the scourger. As Caleb is clearly fluent in Common and highly intelligent, I ascribe his halting manner of speech more to his nervous anxiety than familiarity with the language. For this reason, I tried to give him a sense of hesitation to his speech, a caution to the way he forms his sentences.

Vax, The Raven Queen, and Artagan trend towards Shakespearean actor in their speech. Artagan is both mildly archaic and informal. For the Raven Queen, I referenced her conversations with Vax for her general rhythm of speech, but I think she would interact slightly differently with Jester than with Vax. Vax was her belonging, and she clearly had affection for him, and this would reflect in her speech towards him. The RQ wanted Jester but so long as Jester was not hers, she would not be as intimate in her speech to her. Yet I think Jester surprised her a little, and amused her in a different way than Vax does. So I tried to have the RQ be formal at first, and as Jester does what she always does and gets under people’s skin, the Raven Queen’s metaphorical mask slips just a little, and her speech becomes fractionally more casual.

**Discarded plot points**

The Traveler was originally going to play a more protective role in the negotiations with the Raven Queen. He ended up helping only from the background as a reflection of the Traveler’s implicit trust in Jester to handle herself.

In my initial story draft I thought of having the Traveler attempt to, and fail, to bargain with the Raven Queen on Jester’s behalf. The Raven Queen calls the Traveler ‘Trickster’. The Traveler is a liminal being, and walks between the boundaries of the different planes. While words spoken by the fey (and I think, also the gods) are powerful and binding, attempting to hold the Trickster to a bargain was something she was uninterested in. Basically it was too much trouble for anything he might have been willing to offer her.

I initially thought that Caleb might go back to the moment before he killed his parents and wrote a chapter before I remembered that Astrid and Eodwulf killed their parents before he did, and that Caleb would likely wish to save his friends as well as himself. He’s an all-or-nothing, in for a penny, in for a pound type character. So if he was going to travel back in time, he would go back to where he could save everyone, not just himself. High stakes, high reward.

Bren was originally going to cast the Sleep spell using rose petals from the rose Eodwulf gave him earlier in the day as a component focus. As the Sleep spell has a shorter duration of effect than Suggestion, I gave up on that idea.

There was originally going to be a temple to the Raven Queen in the village cemetery, but I decided that as a mostly farming-focused community, Blumenthal would divert any communal worship-related funds to the Dawnfather instead. I was originally going to have Bren seek aid from a cleric of the Raven Queen who would have fulfilled the role Vax played in this story. The communion pool in the forest is a relic of an abandoned cemetery that wild vegetation eventually covered.

When I first had the idea for Burn that Page, I thought Caleb would be fate-touched, but as I looked at their character histories, and also the events that occurred in the main campaign, it made more sense for Jester. I think Matt’s conception of fate-touched according to the Tal Dorei campaign guide is on some level similar to the way taveren worked in the Wheel of Time series. Erratic things occur around these people. Events are pushed, key figures of the narrative are drawn to them. They don’t need to try, say, or do anything big but they end up being the small pebbles that set the avalanche of major events going. Liam uses this metaphor to describe Caleb’s growing feelings for Jester in Talks Machina, but it is also apt for Jester’s effect on the people and events around her.

I considered having the souls of Bren’s parents talk to adult!Caleb before they were returned to their original timelines, but decided it was redundant to the narrative. Caleb is not looking for his parents’ forgiveness, or redemption. And it would not have helped his mental or emotional journey, though it might have been comforting in a heartbreaking way.

Originally Vax was going to explain a lot more in his initial appearance, and so was the Raven Queen, but as I was writing and tried to lean more into their personalities, I realized that Vax in his role was limited in what he was allowed to say and influence directly. The Raven Queen would have explained everything more explicitly had Jester accepted her offer, but as Jester remained to the end not her possession, she did not feel generous enough to say more.  
  
Caleb was originally going to confront the Raven Queen with more anger. But in the end, the person he blames the most is himself, not the gods. Whatever happens to his parents, I think his anger would not be directed towards her.

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If you have read this section for whatever reason, congratulations on making it to the end, and I'm sorry it was so long and rambly! If you have any questions, would like clarification on any points, or have any thoughts or opinions you'd like to share, I am keenly interested in hearing them.   
  
May the Raven Queen and the Traveler bless you dear reader, and have a beautiful day!


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